Significance
by Delphein
Summary: Well, I could try taking off me shirt. --Jack. Sequel to my fic HaDM.
1. Blades

Disclaimer: Jack and other wonders are not mine. sigh

**_

* * *

Foreword: This is the sequel to my first PotC fanfic, Honest and Dishonest Men__. Or, more accurately, that story serves as a prelude to this one. To any newcomers to my writing, I suggest you read _HaDM_ before this one, as a matter of good logic, so everything herein will make sense. To my faithful readers, welcome back into my imagination, and this one's for you guys._****

* * *

Significance

* * *

Chapter 1: Blades- Swords, Ben, and Flag

* * *

**

"Tell me, do ye always try to seduce your opponents?"

The metallic clang of metal blade striking metal blade rang out in the wide room the crew of the _Pearl_ used as a gymnasium.

"Only when my opponent is already staring down my shirt," Gwen replied, grinning.

Jack sidestepped, and she circled with him reflexively. She still had to put more thought into the dance of her short-sword, though. He effortlessly blocked her thrust, using his sword to push her blade low and out in an easy sweeping motion that was merely a continuation of his original parry. In the next split second, before she could recover from the move and raise her sword in defense again, he'd lifted his own blade to her chin. With his sword pointing straight at her neck, the sharp tip really only a mere inch from piercing the skin, the flat of the blade against her chin causing her to lift her face upward, towards him-- he grinned rakishly at her.

"Actually, luv," he said, slowly and purposefully sliding his gaze down her face and neck and to her breasts, "_now_ I'm staring."

Gwen didn't comment. Using his self-distraction as a ploy to her own advantage, though, she took a half-step back, whipping her weapon around in a controlled loop, smacking his blade away.

"Strumpet," Jack said with a scowl as he easily blocked the deceptive attack she launched at him then.

"You're only upset because you can't distract your opponents with your chest."

But Gwen's gloat turned to a frown when Jack nearly broke through her defenses. She had executed the correct parry, but the blow had struck too high on her own blade, outside the defensive zone near the hilt. She had to retreat a step or two to compensate for the fumbled parry.

Jack grinned lewdly at her, graciously overlooking her faltering blade and instead replying to her tease.

"Well," he said with a smirk, "I could _try_ taking off me shirt."

Gwen clamped down on the humorous mental image of a merchant captain _oohing_ and _aahing_ at a bare-chested Jack. Not bloody likely.

Parry. And then, Jack usually went for a lowing, arcing offense after that particular attack. Yes, just like that- Parry. Feint and sidestep. A quick slice to thrust his blade out before he could launch another offense.

"Maybe jiggle a little?" Jack went on.

Gwen's brow furrowed in determination. Determination because Jack's assaults were becoming more complicated and harder to predict and react to. And determination to not smile at the images he was purposely conjuring up to make her laugh and lose concentration.

Meet his blow, step forward, thrust, block- and her sword slid from her clammy grip. Well, there was nothing for it but to get it back or admit defeat. So she dove after it.

Ithad beenthat same parry she couldn't seem to get right. She could recognize the attack and execute the correct defense well enough in a learning scenario. But in a testing atmosphere, like now, things were more unpredictable and moved much more quickly, and she could never seem to react fast enough. She had caught the blow on the offensive rather than defensive edge of her blade, lostsway over the forces controlling it, and accidentally allowed it to slip from her hand.

She snatched her sword up and was on her feet again in half a moment, ready to continue sparring. What she wasn't prepared for, though, was her opponent.

Jack had stripped out of his shirt while she was preoccupied with retrieving her weapon. Rather than tease, though, he commented clinically, "The same parry."

Gwen nodded, trying not to let her gaze roam over the familiar scars and tattoos marring the skin of his chest and arms.

"Surely even _you_ had some difficulties mastering some of your skills," Gwen said, crossing blades with him again.

"Actually," Jack replied, in a suggestively low, husky voice that was at odds with her serious comment, "I've always known exactly what to do with my sword."

As he spoke he blocked her attacks easily. She paused for half a moment to consider the seductive tone to his voice. It was clear he wasn't talking about his skills with a blade.

Jack took advantage of her momentary hesitation and wiggled his shoulders, grinning carnally as her eyes were drawn inexplicably to the flexing muscles across his bare torso.

The distraction worked. A clean flip of the blade, a deft motion or two, and she stood disarmed, glaring at him, while he smirked down at her, holding both weapons.

"Told ye it would work," Jack said, offering another shimmy to prove his point.

"Try it on Norrington," she said drily.

"Now _there's_ an idea! How long since we've been in Port Royal, anyway?" He grinned impishly.

"Nearly seven months. There's a third Turner by now, I'd wager," Gwen replied.

"Ah, yes. Well." Jack looked thoughtful for a moment.

Then his demeanor changed back to a more casual one and he went back to the subject at hand.

"Your opponent will always try to distract you. There are no rules in that regard."

Gwen merely nodded in agreement, visibly relaxing out of her alert battle-mode. Stepping closer to him, she observed, "Especially not when dealing with pirates." She ran her hands over his bare chest. Without another word, she tilted her head upward, and he automatically bent to meet her lips.

She soon broke away from the kiss, trailing lips and tongue along his scruffy jaw and to his neck, then on down to flick teasingly over his flat male nipples. She slowly lowered herself to a kneel as she moved down over his stomach. Jack's libido was apparently already taking interesting in her actions, she noticed, once at eye-level with his groin. Her hands at his hips, pulling him gently toward her, she breathed warm air over the bulge in his trousers. Her fingertips slid under his sash at his waist. Gwen smiled to herself as she felt him relax under her ministrations.

Then, in a quick second, she sprang to her feet and snatched both swords from his loosening grip. She flipped the blades around quickly and easily, crossing their honed edges at his throat.

Jack frowned at her. "Bloody pirate."

She merely grinned up at him. "You are too."

"Ah, but you forget, luv," Jack said broadly, casually reaching up to pinch the swords right in the center of the steel blades, away from the cutting edges. With a surprisingly strong grip even with the awkward way he had grabbed the swords, he wrenched them away from her, and Gwen suddenly found herself _his_ hostage. He slung one sword away, far out of reach. Her arms were held easily behind her back and her body crushed close against his with one of his arms. With his other hand he held the remaining sword against her throat as he grinned down at her.

"I'm not just any pirate," Jack said then after executing these maneuvers in a flash, "I'm-"

"You're Captain Jack Sparrow," Gwen finished for him, smiling in spite of herself as she felt hisarousal pressing into her stomach. "Good for you," she added patronizingly.

Then, grinning maliciously, she bent her knee and lifted it between his legs. Jack released his breath in a short huff of surprise at the contact and the demonstration of how easily she could knee him from this stance.

"Now we can do this the hard way," Gwen said, "or you can just admit I win. Savvy?"

"Woman," Jack spat grumpily through gritted teeth. But he turned her loose, sheathing his sword as well, not willing to risk all right now for the sake of his groin and too distracted to think of a counter-attack or defense. Blast it all! He was still used to fighting men, wasn't used to having to worry about such weaknesses. Sparring with a man- well, men knew, friend or foe, that that sort of threat just _wasn't_ supposed to be made. It was downright unethical! Why couldn't women understand that? Do it the hard way indeed!

Gwen regathered her sword and her light skirt (which she'd shed since it would have gotten in the way and since she was wearing trousers underneath it anyway). Time to go get some lunch, perhaps play cards with the boys later. She picked up Jack's discarded shirt and his hat as well to hand back to him. Then she noticed the look on his face.

"Oh, come on, Jack," she said. "So I broke your little 'no-threats-against-the-manhood' rule. I'll make it up to you."

He brightened. "Can we do _that_ the hard way?"

* * *

"Ben?" Gwen raised her eyebrows in a question.

Ben Blades worried with his beard, then nodded. He pulled two cards out of his hand and tossed them into the discard pile. Gwen fervently hoped- and concentrated on that hope as she dealt- that Ben's two new cards would be good ones.

For herself, she stayed contentedly at her two pair- of Twos and Fives- and the spare Nine. She was pleased, then, as the betting progressed around the table, to see Ben raise the pot by a considerable amount.

"I fold," she said resignedly, though not very disappointedly, at her turn, slapping her cards face-down onto the table and leaning back in her chair. She watched distractedly as other players folded, leaving Tunnel and John against Ben with the final bets. Ben's royal flush beat the other men's respective full house and straight flush. He was just sliding the money in the center of the table into his own pile when a call came ringing down from above decks, interrupting the gaming table and momentarily shaking Gwen from her reverie.

"All hands on deck!"

Tunnel automatically pulled out the pre-game tally and quickly sorted the coins on the table back into piles for their respective owners. Gwen barely glanced at the stack set before her, trusting that she would leave the table with the same amount that she'd come to it with. No real gambling among crewmates, for it could damage the smooth way the entire crew worked together. But as long as no one really lost any money to another, though, envy and grudges were avoided. Gwen pocketed her silver and gold and hurried out of the galley, heading above decks along with the others.

Her mind preoccupied, she drifted down the corridor toward the stairs automatically.

Her luck at card games had shifted in the pastseveral months. She had gone from unnatural-winning-streak to just somewhat-better-than-average fortune. The men had noticed this, of course, but weren't particularly intrigued by it. Who could guess the whims of Lady Luck, anyway?

But Gwen had realized something. It was true, she lost games more frequently these days. But the winners then frequently tended to be the souls she was feeling particularly friendly toward, for whatever favors or what-have-you they had done recently. While it didn't necessarily always mean _herself_, often, the winning hands were held by the people _she_ most wanted to have them.

She had first really become aware of the pattern shortly after she had taken that fall from the rigging four months back. Serge had quickly splinted her broken forearm and patched up her other minor injuries. Gwen had been impressed by how the man worried about his patient until she had healed. Conspicuously- though no one else seemed to note any correlation between her injury and his winning streak- Serge had enjoyed peculiar success at the card-tables during those weeks.

Since then, Gwen had been experimenting. She had discovered that when she truly wanted a particular crewman to win, he usually did. And the more she came to believe she was capable of the ability, the greater the wins of her subjects. It seemed that how greatly she was prejudiced towards a particular player affected the outcome as well. For instance, even without her careful concentration, the few times that Jack ever joined in for a few hands, he always won outright.

But now was no time for this. Gwen shoved those thoughts aside as she stepped onto the main deck of the _Pearl_.

It didn't take long to discover the cause of all the excitement. A league or two out was another ship. Prey. The crew wereimpatientin anticipation of the pleasures of looting.

Of course, there always the _chance_, however slim, that they _wouldn't_ label it as suitable prey, that they wouldn't bother with putting the _Pearl_ into its paces to catch the ship. It was up to Jack to make that call. But the crew buzzed excitedly with speculations on the cargo and equipage of the vessel.

What the crew only guessed at, Jack sought solid answers to (or at least high-level educated estimation) from where he stood at the helm. He was standing nearly motionless, one hand on the wheel, peering out at the ship, studying it.

The vessel was double-masted, not quite a match for the _Black Pearl_ in size. Its smaller size and its many sails clearly gave it respectable speed, though Jack had full faith that his ship was still faster. The ship flew Dutch colors and gave off the impression that it was a merchant vehicle. But it was riding lower in the water than he would have expected it to. Not dangerously low, but there was still more of the hull underwater than seemed natural. Merchants tended to balance their desires of transporting more goods for profits and of keepingwithin a safe payload.This ship, though,was obviously very heavily laden, nearly past the point of good sense. Judging by its bearing, and the simple location of this point, decently far from any port worth mentioning, it wasn't likely that the ship was running that heavily stocked on _provisions_. No matter where the ship started from, chances were high that their food stocks had been mostly consumed by now. Which meant it was either carrying a bounty of valuable cargo- gold, perhaps slaves, tea, etc.- or it was running heavily armed. Or both. Hmm... He squinted, focused completely on the ship, trying to discern something, anything about it before he made his decision.

They were within a league of the ship now. The crew waited anxiously as they drew nearer and nearer to the potential prey. All were eager, excited, waiting for the inevitable orders to be given.

Attack.

"Not today, ye dogs!"

Confused, disappointed faces turned toward the captain. Hands shied away from the ropes they'd been toying with, swords whose blades had been under careful inspection sagged to the ground.

Jack merely grinned at them all and barked out a command. "Run up the Roger!"

The _Black Pearl_'s familiar old Jolly Roger was brought forth willingly and readily. But that banner meant "Beware, for we are about to attack." And Jack had just said, "Not today."

Jack didn't seem to notice the baffled expressions on the faces of his crew. He nodded toward the Dutch vessel. The crew turned, as one, to watch.

A moment or two after the _Pearl_'s Roger rose among the black sails, the Dutch flag atop the second ship wavered. Then those false colors sank down and a new banner was run up: a black flag bearing a skull, a sword, and a raven.

Enlightenment dawned on many crewmembers as they recognized the flag, and belatedly, the ship as well.

Gwen glanced around at the crew surrounding her. Obviously, it was a pirate ship that most everyone but herself knew. "Who is it?" she finally asked.

Gibbs, standing near her, obligingly answered, "Anamaria."


	2. Out of the Ordinary

_Disclaimer: Not mine. No sue. Carry on._

* * *

Chapter 2: Out of the Ordinary

* * *

"Anamaria?" Gwen echoed. 

Gibbs moved to stand beside her at the rail, where she stood watching the other ship.

"Used to be a member o' the crew, more or less," he replied.

"I see," Gwen said slowly. "Was _she_ bad luck?"

The first mate shot her a quelling look. He had long since dropped his vendetta against her sailing, but that didn't keep her from teasing him about it.

"It weren't quite a matter of luck, so much as just trouble," Gibbs answered after a pause.

"How so?"

"With Jack, mostly."

"Oh," Gwen said lightly. Inwardly, though, something twinged suspiciously.

"Jack had a habit of taking things from her without asking," Gibbs said confidentially, keeping his voice low.

"Like what?" she asked, almost fearing the answer.

"Well, a boat, for one thing. And since he's allays borrowin' from her, she allays figured he owed her something. So she tended to take things here and there herself- a bit more control than she was allowed, that sort of thing."

"So they just didn't get along," Gwen said, hoping that she didn't sound hopeful. And wondering if she could really feel so shallowly toward this woman she had never met.

"Got along just fine," Gibbs answered, oblivious to the quality of her tone. "It was just a battle of wills. Can't say who really won, if either of 'em. Jack took a ship one day 'stead o' just the booty, and give it to her to sail off and command 'er own crew, and that's that. And there she be." He nodded toward the vessel unnecessarily.

The _Black Pearl_ was slowing on its approach. The other ship, as well, had slowed and altered its course so that now, the two ships were executing a sort of docking maneuver with each other. Gibbs moved off to help some of the other crewman prepare lines to keep the ships from drifting apart. Gwen checked first to see if her assistance was needed, but was relieved to note that all was more than amply taken care of. She was still tired from a lack of sleep last night due to… aerobic activities, and then from her hours practicing in the gym with Smithy and then Jack that morning. So she then simply watched the other ship as the two moved into a friendly version of the side-by-side stance Jack preferred as more efficient in looting.

Gwen searched among the crew of the other ship for a woman who might be this "Anamaria," and was admittedly at least a little surprised when she noted there were actually four women in the dozen and a half crewmen on deck. Well, if there was a woman captain, she supposed, it made sense that she'd be more lenient toward the fairer sex in allowing them to participate on her ship; perhaps she even enjoyed having the back-up. Gwen studied each of the women quickly and briefly.

While Jack tended to be more laid-back than many of the high-strung captains Gwen had met, he _did_ enjoy yelling orders. If this propensity to shout was to be taken as a tell-tale sign of a captain (it was a trait Gwen had noted in the other captains she'd met as well), then she would wager that the dark-skinned woman standing on the poop deck, shouting, was Anamaria.

Gwen sized up this woman as both crews worked to secure the ships together (although not too secure; they did maintain a reasonable dosage of vague paranoia) and set up a rough boardwalk to allow easy crossing between the two ships.

Anamaria didn't seem to amount to too much by simple physical considerations. She wasn't particularly tall (or short, for that matter) and didn't seem particularly outstanding in any corporeal way. Her apparel was rather like Jack's: unpresumptuous, comfortable attire that went against the pirate captain ideals, at least in a few Gwen had witnessed, of trying to show success by wearing fine stiff collars and cuffs and all sorts of rich bedeckments. Anamaria was wearing a simple blouse and trousers, well-worn boots, and a broad-brimmed old straw hat.

Gwen's skin tingled and she turned reflexively to see that Jack had come down and was standing on the main deck just behind her, waiting for Anamaria to board. She only smiled lightly at him, then turned back to watch again.

Well, that _did_ make sense. Jack outranked Anamaria, after all, so it was _she_ who would leave the comforts of her own ship to talk with Jack. To be silly and blunt, Jack's ship was bigger. Not to mention he was more renowned, and that Anamaria's own ship could still belong to him if he had so chosen to keep it, forcing her to sail under his colors and share her loot with him.

The two captains would probably converse for an hour or two, sharing information about their recent travels (the _Pearl_ had recently returned from an exploit of some of the colonies up north; they'd been back in the warm Caribbean for only a few weeks), advising of which areas were being tightly patrolled by British or other officials, catching up on maritime small-talk, and perhaps some bartering of cargo items.

Which meant that, for all the initial excitement of seeing a ship, there was really very little going to happen here now. No doubt the crew of the two ships would visit some and talk and joke while their captains concerned themselves with business-related discussions. Which was all well and fine. But Gwen didn't know any of the other crew. Of course, normally, that wouldn't necessarily mean anything. She wasn't afraid or shy of new people. But she was scarcely in the mood to worry about listening to or telling jokes and tales even amongst those she knew well. She really was more tired than she had thought.

"Anamaria!" Jack stepped forward, grinning winningly, his gold teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Gwen blinked. She'd lost herself in her thoughts, hadn't noticed the other captain boarding.

"Captain Sparrow," Anamaria said curtly in acknowledgment. She spoke with an odd but pleasant lilting accent. Her tone, though, carried a perfect blend of deference to Jack and, by stressing his title just enough, a reminder as well that she too was a captain and was to be addressed as such.

Jack led the way toward the map room, and once both captains had disappeared, as expected, the relatively well-ordered crews dissolved into a mass of calling, hooting, and laughing men (and women). Gwen silently slipped away to the captain's cabin.

Once in the relative peace of the cabin, she went to Jack's trunk and fished out a fair-sized leather-bound volume. Then she crossed to the bed, made herself comfortable, flipped the book open to a marked page and began reading where she had last left off:

Prepare you, generals:

The enemy comes on in gallant show;

Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,

* * *

"I heard tale ye'd headed back east for a while," Jack said, flopping down into a chair and kicking his feet up onto the table. 

Anamaria sat down in a chair across the table from him. Jack mused that she was still very much Anamaria. But her mannerisms still seemed slightly changed from the way he remembered her. He presumed this was Anamaria the captain.

"We were just coming back into home waters from a couple of months around the Mediterranean," she confirmed. "And we run into you. I was wondering if you were going to recognize us or not."

"How's that part of the world, then?" Jack asked, grinning. "Still there?"

Anamaria gave him an unreadable look. "Things are getting strange, Jack. More than strange," she said, jumping straight to the most substantial news she had to offer.

"How so?" he asked, his demeanor still casual, nonchalant.

"First we heard was rumors in port. Sailors heard from other sailors heard from others on ships no one's heard of. They was saying there were some odd ships sailing around the Sea."

Jack let his feet slide off with a thump to the floor and he leaned forward. "The _Black Pearl_'s an odd ship," he said, dismissing the detail in light of the lack of more significant information. "What else?"

"The _Pearl_ doesn't appear out of nowhere," Anamaria said shortly.

"Nearly does. She's fast," Jack smirked.

"Not _that _fast," she said, refusing to let her serious mood give in to Jack's teasing.

Jack frowned. "Did you see one of these mysterious ships, then?" He looked at her expectantly. If she had more to share than just sketchy rumors, he would listen to the tale willingly. As it was, it sounded as far-fetched as some of the tales he'd heard about the _Pearl_ itself. Still, most of those at least had a shred of truth in them.

"I did see one, Jack."

His eyes narrowed, but otherwise he made no response.

"We was sailing round Crete. Cabby spotted a ship approaching. It wasn't moving too fast, but it were coming straight at us, sure. But it never met us. We watched it disappear, Jack."

"Jes' disappear right out?" Jack asked, still sounding a bit skeptical.

"No," Anamaria answered flatly. "That's the strangest bit. It _was_ there, sure as anything. It sort of… faded. We didn't even realize it, really, until it was just gone."

Jack leaned back in his chair. "And there's proof more'n one of these ships exists?"

"Can't _prove_ anything. I've heard different descriptions of 'em, though. Different from what I know I saw and different from what others seen, like there's more. Nobody's seen one up-close, though, and you know how stories get mixed up."

He nodded and offered a grin at that. How indeed. He'd had plenty of experience with mixed-up tales. "There's something more," he observed then, judging by her expression.

"Aye," Anamaria said, nodding. "It's the strangest bit, to me. There are disturbances all over the Mediterranean. I don't know if anyone's connected them all yet, 'cept sailors, we hear 'em all. Started in Rome."

"What kind of 'disturbances'?"

"Graves. Ancient ones. Underground tombs. Children and farmers are finding ancient burial grounds all-a sudden. Because all-a sudden they're getting uncovered, half-dug-up."

Jack was silent for a moment as he tried to decide if Anamaria was really trying to say what he thought she was. "So you think there are ghost ships sailing around crewed by the dead of ages past," he said finally, with a dramatic flair and a gold-toothed grin.

Anamaria drew a breath and, ignoring his slight sarcasm, added, "And I think they're going to keep spreading. The reports I heard kept getting further and further apart."

He merely looked at her, his expression a contradictory mix of belief and skepticism, amusement and concern. "All right. What are they up to, then? And could they be stopped?"

"We've dealt with a cursed crew before."

"By lifting the curse," he pointed out. "But how do you kill the dead?"

_

* * *

Gwen was reading from Julius Caesar__, Act V, Scene i._ Julius Caesar **_

* * *

To reviewers:___****Thank you to all of you!**


	3. No Answers for Gwen

Disclaimer: Gwen and a few o' the crew mine. Jack not mine. All ships, friends, and haunts of Jack not mine. Anyone who sues me over this shall get my empty pocket as a settlement.

Author Note/Disclaimer on Historical Matters: Some of the historical references and allusions I make are based on real fact and historical knowledge, or on pre-existing legends. However, I will fabricate some facts and myths all my own.

* * *

Chapter 3: No Answers for Gwen

* * *

Gwen was awakened suddenly, and she reached automatically for the nearest available weapon, the dagger Jack kept under his pillow. 

Jack snickered at her as he shut the door behind him. "No need for that," he said teasingly, waving a hand toward her brandished blade. "I'll give it back."

Gwen lowered the weapon and then tucked it away once more as soon as the haze from her nap cleared out a bit from her mind and she realized it was only Jack. But she asked through a yawn as she stretched her arms and back, "Give what back?"

Jack flew his hat throw the air like a saucer and grinned at her as it skidded onto his desk. "If ye haven't found you're missing anything, then never mind. Sometimes I lie."

"Sometimes?" She lifted an eyebrow at that. "But if you're talking about this…" she reached for the chain and its locket tucked down the front her shirt, pulling it out for him to see. "You're not as good at hiding things as you think you are."

Jack made a face at her. "Nor are you," he tossed back. "I found me razor days ago."

"You were actually going to use it?"

"I didn't say that."

Gwen smiled. "And is that _all_ you've found missing? You're behind."

He smiled indulgently back at her. "How do ye know _you're_ not behind?"

"Let's see… My locket. That deck of cards I liberated from the _Sea Maid_. My bandana. Oh, and those newer boots I never wear. Anything else I've missed?"

Jack scowled. No, there was nothing she had missed. But he would confess it: yes, _he _had started this. Ferreting her locket away from time to time to tease her. She must have been around him too long, picked up an inclination towards vengeance. Started pilfering some of _his _things in playful retaliation. And as tended to happen between them, one thing led to another, led to another, led to ridiculousness.

But now, rather than validate her question with a response, he reached nonchalantly to pick up a book lying open beside her, half under part of her skirt.

At the same time, Gwen had looked up to glance out the window and she realized how low the sun was on the horizon. Only an hour or so before sunset. How long had she slept?

"What of the other ship? And Captain Anamaria?"

Jack was idly flipping through the pages of _Julius Caesar_, which Gwen had apparently been reading before she fell asleep.

"Gone. For now." Jack paused, closing the book and setting it aside on the desk, though he continued to stare at it as though it might decide to do a trick or spontaneously combust. "We'll be returning to Port Royal. And running another errand elsewhere. Then we rendezvous with Anamaria's _Gilder_ and perhaps some other ships."

"Is there a problem?"

"I'm not sure."

Gwen frowned at his answer as well as his countenance. He was _supposed _to say something like,_"Not yet, but we'll make one,"_ and flash a mischievous grin. She wasn't accustomed to seeing Jack look indecisive. She was _used to_ spending days just trying to figure out what was going on in that mind of his, only to discover all her guesses had been incorrect when it actually came to carrying out his plans of pillaging or looting or sporting in other ways. But she hadn't ever heard him make plans to rendezvous with more than one ship at a time, though, and even those one-ship meetings had been few.

"Have you ever heard of Greek Fire?" Jack asked then. At her slight headshake, and ignoring her baffled expression at the unusual question, he went on, "More'n a thousand years ago, the Eastern Roman Empire started using a new weapon on the sea. Liquid fire, essentially. They sprayed it on enemy ships. And it couldn't be put out with water alone. No one's ever been able to explain what it was made of, or how it worked. Maybe… maybe there _isn't_ an explanation."

After a moment of silence, Gwen reached out and touched his arm uncertainly. "Jack?"

"Or what if the reason there isn't an explanation for so many ancient mysteries is that no one's ever tried to explain them the _right way_?" he went on, as if he had never stopped.

Gwen's brow furrowed. He was starting to worry her. This wasn't entirely like him at all. He spoke aloud to her occasionally while working through thoughts or plans, but not with so much detail… or uncertainty.

Jack didn't respond to the expression on her face, or even seem to notice. He pulled out his compass, which was as fickle as it ever had been. Following his first adventure with Gwen, it had eventually resumed its "normal" patterns of operation. It had led them safely to the more southern, somewhat warmer American colonies when Jack had decided to go; it had led them back again to Tortuga.

Now, he flipped it open, to see where it thought Jack should take the _Pearl_. At Jack's odd expression, Gwen craned her neck to see the face of the compass, to see where it pointed now that caused him to make such a dubious face.

East.

* * *

Gwen strolled along through the market stalls, looking at this and that, and smiling tolerantly at the merchants who actively tried to talk her into buying something. If she saw something she liked, perhaps she _would_ buy it. Perhaps. If the fellow was nice enough. But if the merchant was a grump, she might just… _liberate_ the item. 

"Miss!" came a low voice to her right. She turned reflexively toward the call.

"Miss." The man motioned her toward his stall. Gwen glanced over his wares, feigning interest in the wooden toys and utensils she saw as she approached indifferently. (Though she did give the fruit vendor beside him a second glance, feeling she might like a snack.)

"There's a fella followin' you."

Gwen's eyes widened and she took a step back. "Following me?" she repeated, pleased with how sincere she managed to sound.

The man pointed, and Gwen took her cue to glance back at Jack. He had come ashore before she had. But she'd noticed him when he'd come out of a bar a few streets back, just after she passed it, and he'd been trailing her at a hundred feet or so ever since. He hadn't seemed particularly motivated to catch up and walk with her, so she hadn't waited for him either. Besides, he _had_ been arrested once or twice in the past six months in towns like Port Royal, and it was more helpful for all parties involved that she _didn't_ get caught up in it all if he did cause trouble. The jail-break process was usually easier if there were somebody on the outside as well.

"Oh," Gwen said, in a tone of, she thought, well-feigned surprise and uneasiness. "Thank you, sir. I'll hurry straight home and lose him. It's nearby."

The merchant nodded vaguely in agreement at her as she moved off. Gwen grinned as she turned down a side street. One of her most useful tools in her world of piracy, she had discovered, was her innocent face. How easily people still saw her as an innocent little thing to be protected, rather than one you needed to protect _yourself_ fromAnd how ironic it would have been if she had decided to lift something from the man's stall then.

But never mind that. She was almost to the Turners' residence, so she picked up her pace, whether Jack be following her or not.

She turned up another street, one that was lined with fewer, but larger, buildings- the houses of some of the better-off citizens of Port Royal. Finally reaching the one near the end that was her goal, she rapped on the front door with the brass knocker and waited, turning back to idly observe Jack's progress up the street.

A few seconds later, the door opened behind her, and a butler ushered her in. After learning from her the nature of her call, he floated away to inform the mistress of the house of her visitor. Gwen resisted the urge to whistle or hum to fill up the grand silence in the entry hall. The sound of footsteps on the second floor caught her ear and she turned toward the staircase just as Elizabeth appeared on the upper landing, smiling down at her as she began to descend.

Gwen smiled back in greeting as she took in her friend's appearance. It had been right at six months ago when she had last seen Elizabeth. And it was clear that there was indeed a third Turner now, even though the babe was not anywhere near to be seen or heard. Gwen hadn't seen Elizabeth at all during the months when her body had been swollen large with child. But now she looked much the same as she had then, at the end of her first trimester, though perhaps a little lighter, with the extra weight she still carried. Besides which, there were tell-tale signs in the way she smiled so warmly, so motherly, and in the extra wisps of hair escaping half-hearted attempts to smooth them.

"He's sleeping," Elizabeth said in answer to the unspoken question as she reached the bottom of the stairs and embraced Gwen.

But before Gwen could respond to this, the front door opened and Jack clumped in without bothering with knocking. He then sprang lightly up half the stairs, taking them two at a time, before he paused abruptly and turned back to the two women staring up at him from the foot of the stairs.

"Elizabeth, darling, ye look fantastic. Fetch me some rum, aye?"

And with that, he turned and bounded up the final steps and disappeared into the right wing.

Elizabeth turned back to Gwen, mouth half-open, though she knew she should know Jack well enough to not get flustered at his behavior.

"He's…" Gwen tried to explain. "He's Jack."

"That he is," Elizabeth said dismissively. Gwen realized then that Elizabeth was looking over her appraisingly, in the same way she had done Elizabeth.

"So how long?" Elizabeth asked after a moment.

"It's been seven months," Gwen said with a smile. "Sea life suits me."

There was no denying this. Her complexion, while still not particularly dark, was not nearly as ghostly fair as it had been seven months before. Her hair had been shorn a little shorter and was currently pulled back from her face and gathered at the nape of her neck. (Though from time to time, she still allowed Jack to braid it.) Whereas she had bordered on actually being scrawny before, her work as well as her martial training on board the ship had built more muscle into her frame. All the activity and exercise in her daily life gave her a respectable appetite, and since she was no longer eating like a bird, her body boasted healthier curves as well. Even Jack had commented on her changed physique. Well, not exactly commented… not in so many words, anyway. Or not really in any words at all…

"It does suit you," Elizabeth said slowly.

"Are you going to show me the baby or not?" Gwen asked.

Elizabeth smiled. That was, of course, the most appropriate, anticipated, and appreciated request anyone could ask of a new mother. "This way," she said, turning to lead Gwen to him. "We named him Jonathon William, partly after Will and _his_ father. Will's been calling him Billy, though. I'm afraid it's going to stick."

Gwen shuddered involuntarily as she followed Elizabeth up the steps. Bill. Also the name of _her _grandfather. She realized that she had never told Elizabeth about that little detail of their adventure-- about her finding out that the defunct old ex-pirate Bill Jacobs they'd found on that island had in his younger years impregnated a prostitute, who then gave birth to Gwen's mother. Bill. That was name that just kept coming back, it seemed. Funny ol' world.

* * *

Will let himself into his home just past three that afternoon. Ever since Mr. Brown-- the master-smith, if one chose to call him that, whom Will had learned his trade under-- had died a year ago, Will had been able to keep much more decent hours than he used to. He was completely in charge of his own time now, and with two young apprentices to help him, he concentrated almost solely on filling orders for swords and other such finely-detailed work, while the youngsters practiced their metallurgy skills on horseshoes and wrought-iron gates. 

He made his way up the stairs, heading for the room beside the master bedroom, the nursery.

"How's my Billy?" he asked, grinning at the infant as he gently scooped him up. "Where's your mother?"

"Will, must you wake him up?"

"He was already awake. He was looking at me," Will protested, turning to greet his wife, who had come in behind him.

"So you finished Captain Gilette's commission?"

"I did," he said distractedly, peering down at his son. Then he looked up. "Elizabeth… I could have sworn I saw Smithy at the market on my way home. You know, Jack's quartermaster. Have you heard from him, or was I imagining things?"

"No, you probably _did_ see him. Stocking up the _Pearl_, I would assume. Gwen said she thinks they're going on quite a significant voyage, but Jack-"

"Still won't answer," Gwen finished for her, having followed to see where Elizabeth had gone off to. "Hello, Will."

"Gwen," he acknowledged with a smile, and then addressed a question to both women at large. "Where _is_ Jack, then?"

"He's locked himself in the library," Elizabeth said exasperatedly. "He came out once, and apparently filched Brant's house-keys so no one could disturb him." The butler, who functioned more as a groundskeeper and boss over the other servants, had discreetly informed Elizabeth earlier that he had lost track of his keys, including keys for all the locking doors in the house, shortly after the 'unkempt visitor' had stopped him in a hallway.

"Well, what's he doing in there?" Will asked, sounding much amused. "Reading?"

"He _does_ read," Gwen said quickly.

Elizabeth and Will both turned to look at her. Whether because they doubted he had taken over a room in their house just to read a book or because they were just surprised at her abrupt defense of his motives, Gwen wasn't sure.

As if on cue- and really, Gwen certainly wouldn't put it past Jack to have heard some, if not all, of this conversation just now anyway- the library door just up the hallway burst open, and Jack came forth.

"Well?" Gwen said immediately, by no means shy about confronting him now that he had finally come out of hiding.

"Yes, very well, thank ye," Jack said, peering curiously at the baby Will was cradling.

"Jack," Gwen said in a mildly reprimanding tone. It was time he started coming clean about what was bothering him so.

"Gwen, luv," Jack echoed after her, turning to her then. "Where have ye been all day?"

"I sold the _Black Pearl_ to a fine gentleman in a red coat and a powdered wig. I got a very good price for it, but he won't pay all until he has your hat as well."

"He'll have to kill me for either o' those."

Will and Elizabeth exchanged a knowing look at their teasing.

"I also destroyed all the rum in the world."

Jack winced visibly, and he narrowed his eyes menacingly at her. That was not something to joke about.

"So what were _you_ up to all day?" Gwen asked sweetly.

"Planning," he said nonchalantly after a moment. In Gwen's opinion this hardly explained why he felt he needed the use of a library in the Turners' residence just to plan. "How do you feel about Rome?"

* * *

_A/Ns: Cookies for anyone who noticed the Seinfeld allusion in the title of this chapter. Couldn't resist, mate. _

History Lesson: Greek Fire was real stuff. It was like ancient napalm. The Byzantine Empire (also known as the Eastern Roman Empire- this was after the collapse of the "real" Italy-based Roman Empire) used this weapon around the very end of the seventh and the beginning of the eighth century, though there are only a few recorded instances of its use. Using what basically amounted to a flamethrower, with a large brass tube, and some sort of pump, Byzantines sprayed this stuff_ on enemy ships. It couldn't be put out with water only; some tried using urine or vinegar to put out the fires. In fact, though, most liquids seemed to just make it worse, even water. There are records of two entire fleets being completely or nearly destroyed by use of this weapon. To this day, while many have tried, and some weaker approximations have been made, no one has ever been able to successfully reproduce Greek Fire. Some legends suggest thatit was given to the Byzantine ships by gods or some supernatural figure._


	4. Keeping Secrets

Disclaimer: If I really owned these characters, or even if I made any financial gain off these fics, do you really think I'd be where I am now, _rather than_ buying up season passes and plane tickets to every major theme park in the world?

* * *

Chapter 4: Keeping Secrets

* * *

"The butler went out for it himself." 

Jack grinned up at Gwen, taking the proffered bottle of rum from her.

"That ol' stick?"

"He's not that bad," Gwen said in favor of the serving man as she stepped back to close the door of the guestroom Elizabeth had put them into for the night. "Can you imagine _him_ walking into a bar, though?"

Jack snorted as he tugged off his boots and flopped onto his back on the bed with his rum. Gwen crossed the room to the opposite side of the bed, already barefoot, and shed her skirt before crawling up beside him. Her shirt, one which had been his before she'd appropriated it for her own use, fell halfway to her knees when not tucked into her skirt or trousers, whichever she happened to be wearing at the time. Come nighttime, instant nightshirt.

As she snuggled close against his side, Jack caught a scent that was fresh and clean and lightly flowery. Apparently, Gwen had taken advantage of the Turners' facilities and bathed. As he upturned the rum bottle, he smiled, though somewhat dourly, at a memory that drifted into his mind with the whiff of the borrowed perfumed soap.

One day, several months ago, he'd found Gwen, with basin and washcloth, bathing herself in his quarters. She had suggested, as he watched her with a lewd grin, that perhaps he might gain from cleaning himself up a bit from time to time as well. Eventually, he had caved in. Her powers of persuasion finally won out. Or… perhaps it was simply the persuasive power of a naked, wet woman asking him to get wet and naked as well. Thinking that a sponge-bath would certainly lead to sex, he had decided he could endure a little soap.

How wrong he had been. There hadn't been a little soap. There had been a _lot_ of soap. And scrubbing. And the shocking discovery that his skin tone was a more natural tan shade than the grimy, black-streaked brown he was used to. And above all, in the end, it _hadn't_ led to sex. Gwen had refused him the satisfaction, as she tended to do occasionally.

Half the time she turned him down it was because it was the "wrong time of the month," which he only half-understood and didn't want understand any better. It was scary.

And half the time it was because it was the "_right_ time of the month," as Gwen referred to it, when she refrained from sleeping with him so that the _wrong_ time would keep coming. In spite of what seemed like double-talk and sketchy excuses, he didn't argue with her over it. Gwen would end up _explaining_ to him in order to establish her side of the argument. And he was sure he didn't want to know that badly.

But he _had_ adopted two totally new practices as result of the scouring she'd given him on that occasion. First, he had taken to washing up a bit on his own, just enough to keep her from scrubbing his skin off again. And second, he had developed a very abnormal aversion to entering his cabin anytime he thought she might be there bathing. Abnormal indeed. Who had ever heard of a man _avoiding_ a dripping, nude woman? He only hoped that the crew didn't notice either of these new habits of his.

"What are you thinking about?" Gwen asked at his odd expression.

"Rum," he said, not entirely truthfully. Of course that wasn't what he _had_ been thinking about, but now that the thought occurred, he _was_ thinking of some of the finer alternate uses for the glorious substance.

"So, in other words, you're wondering if you can convince me to bathe with rum rather than Elizabeth's soap."

"Sometimes ye scare me, lass," Jack said, though he didn't sound particularly unsettled. He was used to her seeming to read his mind sometimes. It was the fact that he did the same that unnerved him more. Like the way he knew there was no way she had let _it_ drop yet…

Right on cue, Gwen spoke up, changing the subject. "Why did you lie to Will and Elizabeth about why we're going to Rome? And why are we _really_ going?"

"Friends don't always _need_ to know everything," he responded darkly. Gwen knew he didn't like sharing plans. And she felt that he of all people deserved the right to his paranoia in trusting people too much. After all, he'd had quite a bad turn or two as a result of being too open. But still…

She sighed. "Pretend I'm your enemy, then."

He fixed her with a condescending look. "I tell me enemy even less," he said, as though it should be obvious to her. Which it should.

"But any enemy worthy of the title already _knows_ a lot with you _having_ to tell. So whatever you _do _tell is more than enough."

He lifted an eyebrow at her logic and upturned his rum again, his only response.

Gwen held up a book then, presenting it so he could clearly see the cover before she began flipping through the pages.

_Damn her!_ She was too good for her own sake sometimes. It was the book he'd been rifling through before she'd come back just a moment or two earlier. He had stuffed it under the pillow on his side of the bed when he'd heard her step in the hallway.

"If we're sailing across the Atlantic just because you heard of some treasure horde some other pirates are going after, and you want to beat them to it, why are you suddenly so interested in reading about Roman military practices?"

Jack winced at her perfectly valid question. As he had hoped, he had found a copy of Polybius' writings, amongst other things, in the eclectic collection of books and manuscripts that was the Turners' library. Gwen shut the volume now and looked at Jack expectantly.

"What did Anamaria _really_ have to tell you?"

He didn't answer immediately. Gwen waited, looking at him expectantly, until finally he answered. He spoke in a low voice, "There have been sightings in the Mediterranean."

When he didn't continue, Gwen prompted, "Sightings?"

"Anamaria and her crew saw one themselves. The ship was coming _toward_ them, but it just… faded from sight. While they were watching it."

Jack seemed to be trying to decide what more he really needed to share or how he needed to explain himself. He took another swallow from his rum, then set it aside on the nightstand just beside the bed. After a few seconds, Gwen spoke up.

"I'm assuming there's something else you're not telling which leads you to connect these… ships to the ancient Roman navy." She waved the book as evidence. "So you, both of you, that is, think that there are ships from centuries ago sailing around and fading in and out, and apparently you think there's something to be done immediately, which is why the _Pearl_ is going to Rome. What you _haven't_ said is what's in it for you, or why you invited other ships along, Anamaria's and whoever else."

Jack shook his head, more as a gesture of amazement at her ability to piece clues together than as a refusal to answer her questions. But he said then, "Permit me a mystery or two, luv. Later."

Gwen eyed him doubtfully for a moment, but eventually acquiesced. At least she knew her guesses so far were right. Knowing she would get no farther with him on this issue tonight, she let the topic slide for now. She leaned over Jack to set his book down on the nightstand beside his rum.

"Eep!" Gwen let out a surprised exclamation that was half-laugh and half-yelp.

With her leaning across him like that, he had stolen the opportunity and grabbed her, right around the ticklish part of her ribcage, and pulled her down atop him. Rather than fight him, Gwen amiably shifted her weight and brought her legs up, moving to straddle his hips.

"Are you happy now?" she asked, smiling down at him from her intimate position above him.

"Give me a few minutes and I will be," he said with a smirk, running his hands down her sides. When they reached the hem of her shirt, his fingers slipped under the material even as he felt her hands gently tugging at his own shirt.

Jack wouldn't ever admit it, though Gwen probably perceived his thoughts on the matter anyway, but there was something to be said for familiarity. Unlike the numerous women before her, Gwen had been around him long enough and frequently enough to learn exactly what pleased him best. She knew better than he did exactly how much teasing he could endure. Just as _he_ knew _her_ completely. He was just as familiar with her body as he was with his own…

Jack adjusted his angle until he found the spot that made her arch her back and tighten her grip on his forearms. He then began a maddeningly slow rhythm. To Gwen's frustrated pleas, he responded only with a grin, gold teeth glinting at her.

When she could stand it no longer, he let her roll them back over, so she was on top again, and let her set her own tempo. Gwen's release came fast and hard, and she collapsed on Jack's chest, feeling the rise and fall as he steadied his breathing after his own release. After a moment, she rolled off of him, settling at his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder, one arm curled around his middle.

Jack frowned. Unaccountably, rather than feeling relaxed and satisfied, as he _should_ have, he couldn't shake a niggling impression that something was amiss. Something wrong with the way Gwen behaved, or… or something. The thought had occurred to him once or twice in the past several weeks, but the doubt had always been swept away as his senses got caught up in the act. But he had noticed, when they made love… something wasn't right, something was different somehow.

But what? Why was it different, what was it that was bothering him about their sex life these days? Though he wasn't thrilled to consider it, he briefly wondered if she had begun sharing the bed of someone else on board the _Pearl_. What else could it be?

…And then suddenly it all made sense. It was so obvious. It would certainly explain some of the odd behavior she'd exhibited recently. And here she had been pretending he was the only one keeping things secret. And she had been viciously hiding something herself all along. Why would she do this?

Gwen felt Jack's muscles still tensed, sensed his gaze on her. She raised her head slightly and curiously looked up at him. His dark, kohl-lined eyes were narrowed at her, and she couldn't help feeling intimidated at the look in them. His jaw clenched and unclenched.

Confused, Gwen involuntarily shrank back from him a few inches. She had seen him annoyed, irritated, frustrated at her. But she couldn't recall him ever fixing her with a look so angry, so… accusatory.

"How long were ye going to lie, Gwen? Did ye think you could hide it from me forever?"

* * *

****

History Tidbit: Polybius is often referred to as a Roman historian, when he was, in fact, Greek. He wrote about_ Rome and its rise, with an "outsider's" (if you will) perspective on why and how the Roman Empire became **the** world power so quickly. He described _some_ parts and details of the Punic Wars between Rome and Carthage in great detail-- including the selection and equipage of Roman legions, both landbound and seafaring._

Polybius is often referred to as a Roman historian, when he was, in fact, Greek. He wrote aboutsome 


	5. Beginnings

Disclaimer: If _Pirates of the Caribbean_ stuff is _P_, Delphein's stuff is _D_, and this story is _S_, then _S_ - _P equals__D_. Wasn't that easy?

* * *

Chapter 5: Beginnings

* * *

"How long were ye going to lie, Gwen? Did ye thinkye could hide it from me forever?" 

Gwen frowned deeply at him. "Jack," she began, her tone questioning, uncertain. She wanted to demand an explanation of him, as she might normally do. But, unable to piece the words together, she didn't continue.

Jack's incensed expression didn't change, but his eyes raked down her body. Inexplicably, Gwen felt suddenly naked. Which, of course, she was. But the way he was looking at her…

Well, normally she felt he simply looked at her appreciatively- hungrily, even, if he was in the mood. Now, she felt that he was judging her, sizing her up somehow. She didn't feel desirable with him looking at her like that- she just felt _naked_.

Having to will herself not to squirm under his scrutiny, Gwen tried again, "Jack, _hide what_?"

Jack scowled at her. Hide what indeed. His mind rapidly flipped through all of the obvious things he _should _have caught sooner. Finally, seeing she wasn't going to confess easily, he spat out one of the more suspicious bits of evidence that occurred to him.

"When was the last time you decided _not _to… play?"

Play cards? Or _play _with Jack? Either way, Gwen didn't answer.

"When did you start taking _naps_, Gwen?" His voice was cool, collected, but his eyes- those blasted dark eyes- were boring straight through her.

Gwen started to respond, reflexively, to point out that she'd only taken a few naps recently. And that hardly counted as starting a habit. But she flinched in spite of herself and forgot her reply when she felt his hand at her hip. Gliding his touch over her skin, he rested his palm flat just below her navel.

In that same unruffled, low tone, he asked, "How long?"

Gwen froze as the question, and all of his implications, sank straight to the pit of her stomach like a leaden weight. _How long?_

Oh no… no, no, no, no, damn, damn, damn. Hardly thinking what she was doing, she rolled away from Jack, sprang to her feet at the opposite side of the bed. She scrambled into her clothes again, swearing in an unthinking stream of sailor's curses under her breath, no idea where she was going. She just needed to get away from him now, needed to think.

She hardly noticed Jack get up and start hunting for his own clothes, where she'd tossed them away not twenty minutes earlier. She hurried from the room, well aware that she was fleeing, making her way through the dimly-lit corridors.

When was the last time she'd decided against "playtime," the last time she'd forced herself to refuse Jack's intimate advances? A few _months _ago. Damn herself, all the way to hell and back forty times. She'd forgotten. How does one forget something so bloody important? How could she have been so… irresponsible, so stupid?

When did she start taking naps? As Gwen let herself outside, into the moonlit garden behind the Turners' home, her mind brought up memories of Elizabeth heading below decks on the _Black Pearl_ for her afternoon nap.

Elizabeth. She knew. That's what she had really meant by the question she had asked Gwen when she had first arrived early that afternoon. That's why she had seemed a bit confused by Gwen's answer.

_How long… until the baby is born?_ The same question Jack had just asked her.

Gwen sank down onto a garden bench, her hand on her stomach.

Jack. Was he angry with her only because he thought she'd been hiding it from him? Or was he angry because… _because_ she was pregnant?

This couldn't happen! She didn't want this, didn't need this. She was a pirate. She had to… to sail, and fight, and… be carefree, unrestrained. And so did the baby's father.

Father. Jack. Two words that just didn't fit together. It was a joke, like the idea of Jack impersonating a cleric of the Church of England. It wasn't something to be serious about.

Just as she wasn't meant to be a mother. Not now. Not with the life she led now. Her childhood domestic fantasies had been replaced by a fantastic life of adventure, which she didn't want to give up for anything.

But besides all of that, what worried- no, what _scared_ her most-

She looked up at the sound of the door to the house opening, waited silently until Elizabeth appeared around a rose bush.

"I heard Jack calling after you," Elizabeth said quietly, sitting down beside Gwen. "I think he's still looking for you in the house. I saw you come outside, though," she explained, pointing up toward the nursery window, which overlooked the garden.

Gwen only nodded. She hadn't heard Jack calling her as she ran from him, but she hadn't been very focused to notice anything at all at that point.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked into the silence.

"I'm pregnant," Gwen said miserably, staring down at her hands, rough and calloused from doing men's work aboard the ship.

"I was wondering if you realized it," Elizabeth said gently, not at all surprised by the confession.

"How did _you_ know?"

Elizabeth smiled. "You carry yourself differently," she said after a long pause, as though she had been trying to find the simplest way to explain intuition. "And I've _been_ where you are now."

Gwen didn't respond to this, so Elizabeth guessed, "So you've just told Jack, then? And he didn't respond well?"

"No, not… exactly," Gwen said slowly. "I… _he_ told _me_ that he _knew_. He thinks... he thinks I've been hiding it from him. But I... Ididn't know… didn't realize... I guess _I_ didn't respond well."

"Oh."

"Elizabeth…" Gwen said, looking up from her hands to meet her friend's eyes. "My mother _died_ in childbirth."

"Oh, Gwen," Elizabeth said, clasping her hand. But before she could offer Gwen any consolation for the loss of her mother so many years ago, or more importantly, to assure her that it didn't mean the same thing would happen to _her_, Jack appeared around the rose bush.

He had apparently not been able to find his shirt quickly enough and had abandoned the search. He hadn't bothered with his boots either. Clad only in trousers, barefoot and bare-chested, the moonlight picking out the gleam of his hair jewelry, Gwen would have found him alluring at any other time. But she only looked down at her hands again, tightening her grip on Elizabeth's hand as well.

Jack glanced back and forth between the two women before taking a step closer to Gwen. He stood silently for a moment, as though waiting for her to acknowledge him.

Elizabeth watched as he swayed, as if still on the ocean, apparently trying to decide if he should make an off-hand teasing comment or say something serious. For herself, she was trying to decide if she should stay to back-up Gwen or if she should leave the two of them alone for this. Finally, she concluded that the carefree couple needed to learn to work together to deal with important matters like this. She stood, squeezing Gwen's hand before releasing it, and returned inside.

Jack watched Elizabeth walk away, then took her abandoned seat beside Gwen on the bench.

"A whelp, aye?" he said at last. He seemed to have realized that Gwen hadn't been hiding it from him at all. The realization was as much a shock to her as it was to him. If not more so.

Gwen exhaled heavily, as though trying to steady herself. "I didn't think…" she said softly, sounding choked. She didn't look up at him.

Jack stiffened, feeling uncharacteristically awkward as he suddenly realized she was crying. And trying to hideher tearsfrom him. He couldn't recall ever having seen her cry. She'd been a little upset, certainly, once or twice before. A little unhappy. But not enough to draw out tears and sobs, just frowns.

They sat in silence for a long moment, Jack feeling distinctly incompetent and lost (feelings he rarely, if ever, struggled with), Gwen doing her damned best to appear as though she were merely staring at her hands and not trying to fight back tears of trepidation. She felt ridiculous for blubbering like this, but couldn't help it. She was _pregnant_, for Davy's sake, the very last thing on earth she needed or wanted.

Finally, uncertainly, Jack reached out and pulled her against him, leaning her head against his chest. Gwen caught her breath in surprise at the unusually affectionate gesture, then gave in to his embrace, letting him hold her while she cried.

* * *

"S'long as we're already here, there's no need to raid elsewhere," Jack reasoned, nodding and gesturing in an affirmative sort of way. He took a bite out of his apple. 

Gwen listened suspiciously for footsteps and shot Jack a warning look. The Turners, they could certainly trust. But there was never any complete guarantee on the servants. Speaking in a somewhat lower tone than Jack, she asked, "How will you get it all aboard the _Pearl_?"

"We'll load it up, o' course," Jack said impassively, reaching across the table for the milk.

Gwen paid no heed to his deadpan comment and pointed out, "The _Black Pearl_ will be recognized the instant she sails into harbor. But you would _have_ to sail into harbor in order to 'load it up.' Unless you intend to lug grenades all the way out to the other bay."

"I know she'll be recognized," Jack said impishly, flashing her his _I'm-scheming_ grin. "I'm counting on it. Ye going t' eat that?"

Gwen shook her head and pushed her plate closer to him as she entreated him, "Jack, just once, tell me… what are you planning? How are you going to break into the artillery and get away with it while Norrington is breathing down your neck?"

"Ye've forgotten an important detail," Jack said. He glanced at her plate, then pushed it back towards her, apparently having changed his mind about finishing her breakfast for her. Pointing emphatically down at it, he said, "Eat that."

Ignoring his command, she pushed the plate away again and asked, "You mean, the detail aboutyoubeing Captain Jack Sparrow?" She grinned at him.

Both of them automatically paused and looked toward the open doorframe of the breakfast nook, into the dining room beyond, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps.

Relaxing as they identified the interloper as their host,Jack turned back to Gwen and narrowed his eyes at her for her teasing. "Close. But what ye've forgotten is that Norrington is _Norrington_. _He_ won't let me down."

"Who won't let you down?" came a voice.

The voice preceded Will into the room. He was followed shortly thereafter by Elizabeth.

"_You_ won't," Jack said, switching subjects easily, turning to Will with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Will glanced from Jack to Gwen as he seated his wife and then took his own chair at the table. "What is it now?"

"Gwen would like a sword," Jack said.

"I've got one, Jack," Gwen intervened. "Will's busy."

"You've been learning to fight?" Will asked, turning to Gwen. He flashed her a grin. He thought for a moment. "When will you be leaving, Jack?"

"Tomorrow," Jack answered, unable to contain his puckish grin at the reminder of his plans. Impulsively, he scooted the remains of Gwen's breakfast back towards her.

Elizabeth watched Gwen frown at Jack and purposefully push her plate away again. She could practically hear Will's thoughts, knew he was trying to decide which of his swords currently at the forge he would modify and spruce up as a gift for their friend, and how long it would take him to do so. And Jack… Elizabeth lifted her eyebrow in bemusement, and asked him, "Will you be leaving with or without naval pursuit?"


	6. The Captive

Disclaimer: If _Pirates of the Caribbean_ stuff is _P_, Delphein's stuff is _D_, and this story is _S_, then _Sminus_ _P equals __D_. Wasn't that easy?

* * *

Chapter 6: The Captive

* * *

"Do you still have that green thing?"

Gwen eyed Jack dubiously. "What 'green thing'?"

"That gown ye had when ye first kidnapped yourself onto the _Pearl_."

She grinned at his phrasing and at the reminder of the first doubtful day she had spent on the pirate ship. But then she frowned. Not even bothering to ask _why _he wanted to know, already sure he wouldn't just tell her, she simply pointed out, "It's meant to be worn with a corset, which I _don't _have."

Not to mention that, although she hadn't really put on all that much weight in the months since she had last worn it, she wasn't quite the scrawny thing she had been when the dress had been made for her. Especially considering the way, now that she took note of it, she was just beginning to thicken around the middle. She didn't speak these last points, though. She didn't want to draw his attention to, or remind him of, her condition anymore than was necessary if she could avoid it.

Jack frowned at her response. His eyes shifted down, as if to appraise her figure. "Anything more expensive than that?"

Gwen, relieved that he seemed to be considering her overall _image_ rather than her stomach, asked, "Why do I need to look like a lady again?"

Jack grinned at her, taking note that she had skipped two points of the conversation. First, she hadn't answered his question or asked if she _should_ find something more high-class than her usual garb. And second, she had jumped over the question of why she needed such a dress, to which he would have responded that she needed to look like a lady. It seemed she thought like him more and more all the time.

Before he could answer, Gwen added, "More specifically than just so you can use me as some sort of ploy against Norrington."

Now he narrowed his eyes at her, pursing his lips into what was very nearly a sincere pout. But there was no menace or annoyance in his voice when he responded. "Just do it, luv," he said lightly, offering a gold-edged grin to soften the command.

"Aye, _captain_," Gwen answered with a smirk.

Jack disappeared from the drawing room door once again, and Gwen smiled in spite of herself at his scheming. He had decided to trim their "errand," that of replenishing the _Pearl_'s ammunition stores at some other port, out of his plans. Instead, to accomplish that goal, he had opted to indulge in a round of cat-and-mouse maneuvers with his favorite rival: Norrington. There was no telling what role Jack had cast Gwen into for the sake of the game.

Elizabeth appeared in the doorway just then, head turned as though watching Jack's retreat away from the room. She was holding her little son, one arm under Billy's bottom, the other hand supporting his head and neck and holding him against her shoulder.

"Did I interrupt something?" she asked, turning her attention to Gwen and entering the room.

"No," Gwen said quite truthfully, still smiling. "He only stopped by to give me orders."

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow at this but didn't comment. She had hoped that perhaps the two had been talking about something _important_.

For Gwen to have been so anxious and distraught last night, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel unsettled at the way Jack and Gwen had been behaving around each other all day. As if everything were perfectly normal. For herself and Will, they had been overjoyed when they learned of their expected child. They hadn't rejoined the "real world" for days. But for all of the same reasons- of status of life and personal aspirations- that the news of Elizabeth's pregnancy had thrilled her, the same tidbit of news had troubled Gwen significantly. Not to mention the odd but tellinglook on Jack's face when he had joined them outside in the garden, looking physically barely-put-together and emotionally very concerned. Elizabeth just couldn't see clear that her pirate friends could have so easily settled their fears that offspring would threaten their trouble-free, light-hearted life-style. And if they hadn't _settled_ those fears, that meant that they were trying to ignore them. For which cause Elizabeth worried.

Elizabeth realized, as she sat down on a divan, that Gwen was absently staring at Billy. "Do you want to hold him?" she offered automatically.

Gwen smiled politely but responded with a little shake of her head, clearing her throat and looking away from the baby. Elizabeth frowned at the sign of Gwen's ill-ease about babies in general and her own pregnancy resurfacing. _Look but don't touch_. Well, Gwen would have to change her mind about that not so many months from now, wouldn't she?

Elizabeth tried to banish the awkward mood in the room, taking the opportunity to ask something she was curious about anyway: "Any idea what sort of mischief Jack's planning now?"

Gwen only paused for a second before she said candidly, "He's intending to steal ammunition and artillery directly from under Norrington's nose."

"How?"

"I have no idea. But I know he wants to use me as some sort of diversion or high card. He needs me to 'look like a lady' for the occasion." As she said the last bit, she gestured at her clothing, a simple, light cotton skirt and a loose shirt.

"I think we can find you something," Elizabeth offered, absently rubbing Billy's back.

"You're too helpful sometimes, Elizabeth."

"Anything for friends," she smiled.

* * *

Gwen was almost surprised at the amount of activity on board the _Pearl_ when she and Jack reboarded the next morning.

The crew was industriously storing away fresh supplies. The _Pearl_, unlike many pirate ships, kept a treasury for the purpose of buying food and other such necessities in bulk for all. They had found that the simple act of keeping provisions for themselves improved morale and helped them plunder more successfully, taking mostly riches rather than mostly stock items. While the captain and some of the other crewman had been enjoying a holiday (while hiding from Port Royal's patrols), Smithy and some helpers had apparently been very diligent in purchasing and covertly transporting crates and barrels full of supplies to the _Pearl_, where she lingered near the secondary bay just out of view of the actual harbor of Port Royal.

Now the only provision left to secure was armaments. And as soon as their weaponry was replenished, they could set off on whatever voyage or adventure Jack had decided upon for them.

Now, as Jack bounded away to find Gibbs, Gwen turned towards their cabin to set down her packages. Both Turners had come through with providing Gwen with the things Jack wanted her to have.

Will had returned from the forge the evening before with a beautiful sword, complete with gold filigree on the handle and both scabbard and baldric of new leather, all packed into a long, narrow case. He had been beaming with pride as he presented it to her, and Gwen couldn't help but think it was the nicest thing she had ever been given, regardless of the empty-hearted rich things her father had absently allotted her during her youth.

And Elizabeth had found Gwen a gown, perhaps just a shade out of the current fashion, but elegant nonetheless. It was one she had worn for a season a year or two before her first adventure with the _Pearl_ and its cursed crew. She assured Gwen she had no use for it, and Gwen had accepted the donation willingly, inwardly quite pleased that Elizabeth seemed to have purposely chosen an older style that would not call for cinching her stomach with a corset.

Gwen lay her sword and the bundled-up dress on one end of the table in the cabin and took the opportunity to sit down for a moment alone to muse. She realized that Jack had provided her with everything she had now, whether directly or indirectly. Her home- this ship- and all of its benefits had been granted her when he allowed her to stay aboard, even though she could argue with herself that she did support herself in helping to crew the ship and pillage along with the best of them. Jack had also introduced her to Elizabeth, whom she had not seen in a while but still counted as her closest, really her only, female friend. He had even been responsible for gaining her this beautiful sword, even if it had been more directly a gift from Will.

And now, Jack was also responsible for…

Well. Gwen stood abruptly. No need to think about it. She went out on deck to assist the rest of the crew in taking cargo down below to be stored. She picked up a crate and headed toward the hatch, laughing along with a crude joke Tunnel was sharing to all within earshot.

Gwen made two trips down with cargo and then back up again for more, but on the third, before she could lift a new crate, a rough hand grabbed her wrist. She looked up at Jack, bewildered.

Jack leaned in close and spoke in a low voice, "Ye don't want to be doing that, luv."

At the mystified expression she gave him, he stood upright again and gestured flowingly toward the captain's cabin. "You'll want to change now, m'lady," he explained, offering a half-grin to go with the disguised command.

Gwen stared at him, unsure whether the order to don her newly-acquired gown was his original intended purpose for accosting her or if it was just a smooth save. She favored the latter as most likely. She had been irritated when she first realized that he was trying to make her eat even more. Was this his way of coping, of pretending to understand their plight? By acting as though she had some disease that required coddling and proper treatment, and perhaps that alone would be enough?

She scowled at him openly before stalking away to change, as per his request.

Jack frowned. He wasn't sure he liked pregnant women. Not when the particular woman in question was _his_ woman to have to deal with. He had held her while she cried the other night. And when she had run out of tears, they had wordlessly returned to their room and gone to sleep, as though nothing were wrong. In spite of his masked desire to help her, though, he really wasn't sure why she had been crying in the first place, and wasn't sure how to act around her having witnessed that vulnerable moment. He had thought perhaps the pregnancy itself were somehow physically unpleasant, thought that perhaps if she rested and ate more, things might work out a little better. Well, his attempts to enforce that policy didn't seem to help her mood any.

He shook his head. There weren't enough hours in a day to figure it out.

* * *

Despite her previous, though short-lived, annoyance at Jack's cosseting her, Gwen couldn't help but grin as the _Pearl_ approached the harbor of Port Royal. Like many of Jack's plans,this onewas quite simple, really. The plan consisted almost exclusively of using her as a point for negotiation, then boarding the _Dauntless_, which was conveniently in port at the time, and simply taking what they wanted. Jack expected resistance to this, of course, but how he intended to deal with it, he wouldn't share, partially out of his old paranoia, and partially out of his desire to save the punch-line for the end of the joke.

Gwen basked in the balmy Caribbean breeze as she stood at the prow of the ship. She was watching and waiting for the moment of realization when the small watch-crew on board the _Dauntless_ recognized the dark ship sailing into harbor to be the_Black Pearl_-- one of the main ships on Norrington's perpetual "wanted" list. Jack stood nearby, similarly awaiting the moment of recognition.

And then it began.

A shout went up on board the naval ship as soon as they were noticed, and Jack took his cue. Stepping up behind Gwen, he clasped one arm around her waist, holding her snugly against him, and with the other hand, he raised a dagger to her throat.

Damsel in distress. Classic negotiating device. But a _rich_-lookingdamsel? Even better.

Gwen took the opportunity to scream, yell, call for help, and generally act terrified in a very loud way before Jack's ears couldn't stand how well she played her part anymore. He switched up his hold on her, clamping his empty hand over her mouth, and using his dagger arm, crossed diagonally across her torso, to pin her back against his body.

By this time, the _Pearl _was bearing down on the _Dauntless_. Jack flashed a grin at the soldiers aboard the vessel as they drew closer and closer together.

"Act wisely, gen'l'men," Jack called to them as soon as they were within a few hundred yards, raising his blade higher along his captive's throat. Gwen squirmed appropriately, her eyes wide as she looked across toward the soldiers beseechingly.

For a long moment, there was no reaction. Finally, a cool, collected fellow stepped up, obviously the lieutenant in control of the smalldetachment which was to supposed to guard both the ship and the harbor.

The man was short with broad shoulders and carefully groomed wig. He spoke in a nasal accent, "What are your terms, _Sparrow_?" The last word he spat out.

Jack grinned. Bargaining was such fun. "The life of this lass-" here he gestured dangerously at wide-eyed Gwen with his dagger- "for possession of the lovely lass ye're standing on."

The man raised his eyebrows, as though uncertain whether the pirate could actually be serious. In a tone of disbelief, he asked, "You want the _Dauntless_?"

"For the lass. Yes," Jack confirmed.

"Are you mad?" the lieutenant couldn't help saying. But his eyes flicked sympathetically toward Gwen, as though he were realizing that a hostage was his responsibility to protect and rescue at nearly any cost.

"Extremely," Jack answered. "My ship, lieutenant. For the fair maiden's life. Of course," he added, "I can't guarantee I won't try to get her back after we trade, because I know _you _will certainly try to get your ship back, aye?"

The lieutenant seemed to waver at this. The prospect of chasing down a pirate to regain a ship… He reviewed the whole situation rapidly. The _Corinth_ was in port and, of course, _would_ be after the pirates before they could even leave the mouth of the harbor. He knew well enough the reputation of Captain Sparrow, but there didn't seem anything that could go wrong here. The young lady would be rescued, the lieutenant and his men and the maiden would row back quickly to warn the _Corinth_, and the _Corinth _would easily recapture the naval ship and arrest the infamous Sparrow and his band of reprobates.

Just as he was hastily arriving at his decision in this way, the maiden let loose a terrified squeal. He looked up guiltily to see that while he was taking time thinking, the pirate captain had pulled the girl's head back with a hand on her forehead and was grazing the dagger against the skin of her neck.

"Agreed," the lieutenant called out anxiously.

"I'll have me ship, and then ye can have the wench," Jack said, not missing a beat.

The man hesitated, but consented when Jack tightened his grip again.

The lieutenant called to his crew, discreetly giving some orders as they came, and the assembled crew piled into a shore boat and unwillingly abandoned their ship to the pirates.

The first sign that something was wrong came immediately. As soon as the shore boat had been lowered into the water and the first pirates had crossed over to the _Dauntless_, the captive maiden, rather than being turned over to the waiting officers, was simply released. The captain even handed his dagger to her, which she tucked down the front of her dress. The lieutenant watched in consternation as Captain Sparrow gave the lass a randy smack on the bottom, and the woman playfully slapped his chest as she strolled away to casually bespeak another member of the pirate crew.

There was nothing for it but to hurry back to spur the _Corinth_ as quickly as possible, to compensate for the deceit. They began rowing fiercely into harbor, shouting as soon as they were close enough. The lieutenant realized at once why the _Corinth_ hadn't been suspicious of the activity between the _Dauntless_ and the black-sailed ship and come to their aid on their own. From this angle, the _Black Pearl_, while not completely hidden, was obscured from view behind the bulk of the _Dauntless_, so that the preoccupied skeletal crew of the _Corinth_ hadn't noticed it.

As it happened, the Commodore himself was currently inspecting the _Corinth_ today, and he emerged from his rounds below decks with Captain Giselle just as the rowboat of deposed soldiers arrived with their unsavory news.

"After them. Immediately," Norrington commanded, his voice dangerously calm. "Sparrow will not have the _Dauntless_."

As soon as the soldiers had cleared out, leaving the _Dauntless_ in Jack's hands, the crew of the _Pearl _had quickly taken over the naval ship and begun their task. All but a handful of the crew hurried to snatch up every bit of artillery and ammunition on the ship, as well as a few other things that were easy to grab in passing. The naval ship ran heavily armed, and their munitions were more than enough to comfortably restock the _Pearl_'s stores of balls, powder, and shot.

"Hurry, ye dogs, we'll only have a few minutes!" Jack urged.

"Jack," Gwen began, "why don't we just _take _the _Dauntless_?"

"First off, luv, they disabled the rudder chain as they were leaving. We wouldn't be able to get her out of port fast enough. And second… that's what they expect." He grinned and winked as he turned away to return to the helm.

Gwen smiled as she crossed to the _Dauntless_ to help carry as much artillery as possible back aboard the _Pearl_ so they could make their clean get-away under the easy cover of the dead-in-water _Dauntless. _Their mission was a success.

* * *

"Sir?"

Norrington didn't answer Captain Giselle. From where he now stood on the defiled deck of the _Dauntless _(which was stripped bare of all munitions but the empty cannons themselves, and disabled by the handiwork of the naval crew themselves), with the perspective of exactly what Sparrow had intended and had done, making a mockery of his forces yet again, he _should_ be thinking of how the pirate should be caught and punished.

Instead, all he could think of was the woman. The woman in the gown whom he had seen through his glass, the womanabandoning the _Dauntless_ with the rest of the pirates before the _Corinth_ even had a chance to get in range of the _Pearl_ around the disabled _Dauntless_. That woman. There had been something about her…


	7. The Carefree Pirate's Life

Disclaimer: If _Pirates of the Caribbean_ stuff is _P_, Delphein's stuff is _D_, and this story is _S_, then _S __minus_ _P equals __D_. Wasn't that easy?

* * *

Chapter 7: The Carefree Pirate's Life

* * *

"Where are we to meet Anamaria?" 

"At sea," Jack answered vaguely, sounding disinterested in discussing it right now.

Gwen frowned at his response, circuitous and unrevealing as always, but she didn't press the question. She merely turned her gaze back out the window to consider the post-sunset twilight.

But her thoughts were interrupted as Jack abruptly wrapped his arms around her from behind, and bent to kiss the side of her neck.

"Not tonight, Jack," she heard herself say dully.

She expected him to huff or heave an exaggerated sigh, but he did neither. Nor did he even pause, but reached a hand up to loosen the laces keeping the wide neck of her shirt (for she had changed back to her more comfortable clothes) from gaping open.

"Too late to worry about it now," he said in the rough growl his voice dropped into whenever he was trying to seduce her.

And usually, his tactics won her over to his bedroom campaigns rather easily. But tonight, his words themselves overrode his husky tone because they rang all-too-true. The _reason _it was too late to worry about "it"- the possibility of conception- was the child growing in her womb even now. Instead of the jolt of desire she might normally get from his using his best seductive-voice on her, Gwen felt the pang of dread that was quickly becoming an all-too-familiar correlation with any thoughts of her impending motherhood.

She turned abruptly within his arms, and before she had really considered what she was going to say, she pointed out, "I'm _pregnant_, Jack."

Jack staggered back a step or two, put a hand to his hand, and then grabbed her playfully, pretending to steady himself, as he repeated with an astonished expression, "You're what?"

Before Gwen could comment on his mockery, he grinned and said, "You're a bit late on the revelation there, mate."

Gwen sighed. "Don't you realize what that means?"

His brow furrowed and his head cocked to one side. "No more playtime?" he guessed, clearly hoping the answer to this would be "no."

"I'm carrying your baby, Jack," she said earnestly, ignoring his teasing. "Where is there room on the _Pearl_ for a damned baby?"

For a moment, Gwen thought perhaps she had finally caused Jack to stop and think about how they would fit a baby into their lifestyle. But when he spoke again after a few seconds, he answered lightly.

"There's a plenty of room," he said. "And the little whelp'll be in good company. The _Pearl_'s had plenty of damned crew and damned captains, and damned fools like me, and damned vixen like you." (Here he leered salaciously at her, stalwartly sticking to his guns in his attempts to coax her out of her clothes tonight.) "So there's certainly room for a damned baby."

Gwen stared at him for a long moment. When she at last parted her lips to speak again, Jack stooped and kissed her, silencing any argument she might want to make.

He pulled back and looked down at her then, running his hands up her sides and digging his fingers into her ticklish rib. Finally soliciting a genuine smile and a choked laugh from her as she tried to squirm away from him, he stopped torturing her and caught her close again, spooning her back against his stomach. Lowering his voice again, he leaned over her shoulder and said, "You need some more pirate in ye, luv."

His double-entendre had the desired effect.

After a long moment, Gwen silently let her worries about the baby slip away. At least for now, anyway. As Jack suggested, perhaps she _should_ let the pirate roam free again, and stop trying to fight life and just take whatever she could from it. Wasn't that the creed that had guided her happily for the past six or seven months? More pirate, less worries.

Gwen sighed contentedly, not as convincing a sound as she might normally make, but Jack was satisfied she had listened to his advice.

Then she leaned back into his chest, and in her own best seductive purr, said, "Maybe I do need some pirate in me. Is 'the Captain' feeling charitable tonight?"

"'The Captain'," Jack replied in a low rumble, grinning smugly at his success and hugging her rear back against his hips, "is an upright fellow. Bit of a stiff negotiator, has some rigid beliefs, but always willing to help a damsel from her dress…"

* * *

"Ah, Commodore. To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?" 

Norrington stood to greet his hostess as she entered the drawing room where he had been ushered to wait. A few hours earlier, it had suddenly occurred to him what was bothering him about the appearance of the piratess he had glimpsed on board the fleeing _Pearl_.

"Miss Turner," he acknowledged, executing a brief bow in courtesy. As she seated herself across from him in an overstuffed chair, he said, "I had hoped to find your husband at home as well."

"He normally would be by this time, but he's had an expected order to fill recently and is catching up," Elizabeth explained diplomatically. When the commodore didn't respond after a moment, she tried, "Is there some way we might help you?"

"I had hoped I might be able to help the two of _you_, Elizabeth," Norrington said frankly. "I thought perhaps you might appreciate my advice."

Elizabeth sat up a bit straighter and gestured for him to go on, her attention caught by his use of her first name.

"I have heard rumors, Elizabeth, and I have turned my head. Some people say the Turners harbor pirates. Despite how I know you, and William, to have… unsavory connections, I still ignored the gossip. However…" he paused, searching for his wording.

"Is there a point to this, Commodore?" Elizabeth asked, using his title to show her concern but keeping her tone light to keep from sounding anxious.

"Where you aware that the _Black Pearl_ was here in Port Royal this morning? And Jack Sparrow?" Norrington didn't share what Sparrow had gotten away with, essentially emasculating the _Dauntless _by stealing its balls and shot.

"Sara Matthews was speaking of it when she called earlier this afternoon, yes," Elizabeth said evasively.

"Are you also aware that Mr. Sparrow has a lady consort sailing with him now?"

"Does he?"

"She's about generally about your size, I would guess," Norrington said, clearly trying to draw some sort of confession from Elizabeth.

Elizabeth couldn't imagine what kind of proof of her involvement he might have, so she continued to avoid giving anything away. "Oh?" she said nonchalantly.

"She was wearing a very distinctive gown. One which I seem to recall you wearing to a ball at the Staffords' a few years ago." Before Elizabeth could stumble over an excuse or cover-up for this telling bit of evidence, he went on, nearly pleading. "Elizabeth, if you and William get yourselves caught harboring or helping Jack Sparrow, or any pirates for that matter, there won't be anything I can do. I cannot merely look the other way if the entirety of Port Royal is pointing to you as colleagues of pirates. Please do not force my hand against you."

* * *

"Two ships, dead ahead," came the call down from the crow's nest. Jack drew out a spyglass and peered at the distant horizon. It would take another moment or two before he could first see them, from his vantage point far below Gwen's lookout. (Gwen had insisted that if she wasn't to worry, neither was he, and had climbed up to her post as usual.) 

Jack stared, waiting.

And then two tiny spots appeared. As the _Pearl _drew nearer and nearer, Jack scrutinized the two vessels. The one to starboard was the _Gilder_, all right. The other ship was painted entirely a deep shade of burgundy, trimmed in white, with red sails. He wasn't familiar with the craft, but with an eccentric façade like that, there was only one man who could possibly be its captain.

* * *

"Dylan Murphy, not dead yet? And is this all ye could drag out, Anamaria?" 

Captain Murphy leaned back precariously in his chair. "Is tha' any way te talk aboot an ol' friend, Jack?"

"I thought ye swore ye'd not survive a day if ye ever left Singapore again, Murphy," Jack said severely, but he was grinning teasingly.

Murphy shook his head. "Could ha' sworn ye said th same. We were yoong then."

"Some of us still are," Jack smirked, feeling particularly vibrant after a good night's "sleep."

Before Murphy could respond, Anamaria cut in, "If we could settle the details of this voyage, perhaps the two of you could drink and trade tales later."

Murphy eyed her with a very convincing scowl on his face, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "Why'd ye make 'er a kept'n, Jack?"

Anamaria ignored the jibe. "Tell Jack what you told me," she commanded.

Murphy frowned. "I dunno how ye stood 'er on yer ship," he complained good-naturedly. But he let his chair plunk back onto all fours and leaned forward. "I saw one o' yer ghostin' ships, soonds like. One what she says disappears, but this'un didna disappear." He paused.

Jack remembered his old shipmate well, and unless he had changed, Jack knew the man had quite a penchant for dramatic story-tellings. He merely grinned, refusing to ask any token questions to lead him on. Finally, Murphy continued on his own, seeming somewhat deflated.

"Talked t' them."

Jack couldn't stop himself. "_Talked _to them? Who are 'them'?"

"I think ye've already guessed, Jack. If I said they 'ad a _corvus_, wouldna that answer all?"

"I assume ye're saying they had a _corvus_ on the ship," Jack said, realizing that if he didn't play his role as inquisitive, curious listener, Murphy would never get anywhere.

"Aye, but tha's not all."

"Somehow I doubted it would be."

"Th' kept'n searched m' ship, and after tha', we talked."

Jack sighed. "I'm assuming there's some tidbit ye could just go ahead and tell me that would answer all, aye?"

Murphy grinned, but didn't answer, waiting for Jack to ask the correct question.

"So why did he want to search your ship?"Jack bit his tongue on comments on its unusual coloring.

"They thought I might ha' summat they were desperate fer."

"And why would they think that?"

"They saw 'er name."

Jack waited. Many pirate captains, after commandeering a vessel, would rename and frequently even repaint their new ship. Few actually painted the new names onto the vessels, though. Renaming ships was frowned upon already by seamen's superstitions, and branding a new designation on a ships' hull seemed way too permanent for the more apprehensive souls. Apparently, though, Murphy had been brazen enough to retitle his ship.

Jack knew there was no telling what this character would name his ship. He hadn't seen the title yet, but then, he had only caught a few cursory glances of one side of it this morning. Finally, he sighed and asked, "The name of your ship?"

Murphy surprised Jack by foregoing a dramatic pause and answered promptly, with a grin, "_Lux Fortunaque Mundi."_

* * *

Gwen watched from her overhead perspective as Anamaria and the other captain boarded the _Black Pearl_ and then disappeared into the map room. 

Gwen couldn't help but grin when she first saw the man that was captain of the odd scarlet ship. He was just as red as his ship, with bright red-orange hair knotted into dreadlocks, and a thick red beard. What she could see of his face suggested a pinkish complexion. He wasn't much taller than Jack, but his beefy arms and torso reminded her of a bull.

When she grew tired of drawing correlations between the red man and his red ship, she began musing that she supposed Jack matched his own ship closely enough. His dark mane of hair and kohl-limned dark eyes complemented the _Black Pearl_ very nicely, she thought. Although perhaps she was biased. His-

Ahoy, Gwen, what is this? She abandoned her idle thoughts and took out her spyglass to peer more closely at the dot that had just appeared on the horizon to the southeast. As the highest watch on the tallest ship of the trio, she was the first to see the ship.

"Ship approaching, southeast," she turned to yell down to Gibbs at the helm. She felt, more than saw, the activity on all three ships changing from leisure to readiness as she turned to peer through her glass again.

"Three ships," she corrected.

At this, Gibbs called down that the captains were to be notified immediately. Then he turned his face upward to yell toward Gwen, "Can ye see if they're flying any colors yet?"

There was a silence.

"Gwen?"

"Gibbs, sir," Gwen called, peering down to meet his gaze. "There's a whole fleet."

* * *

**Latin Notes:**

Corvus- Literally, "crow" or "raven." However, this actually refers to a sort of drawbridge-like device on Roman naval ships, with a spike at the end. Drop the little "bridge" down on an enemy ship, the spike drives through the enemy's deck to hold the corvus in place, march your soldiers across to take on the mere sailors on the enemy ship, and !!poof!! instant land-battle. Man vs. man rather than ship vs. ship. Named for the fact that with one of these roughly-beak-shaped devices on the prow, a ship looked rather bird-like itself.

**Lux Fortunaque Mundi- **Literal translation (and this is all you get): "The Light and Fortune of the World."

* * *

A friend recently quoted me this statistic: Only 1 out of approximately every 20 readers or more take the time to review fanfiction. Thank you very much to those of you who take the time to review. I write especially for you.


	8. Lux

Disclaimer: If _Pirates of the Caribbean_ stuff is _P_, Delphein's stuff is _D_, and this story is _S_, then _S_ _minus_ _P_ _equals D_. Wasn't that easy?

**

* * *

A/N: Anywhere that you see quotations in italics, "_like so_," this indicates that the speaker is not speaking English. For places where the italicized language needs translation (I.e. not written in English), I've included the usual guide at the end. That's just standard procedure, really. So this notice is just a heads-up, I guess.

* * *

Chapter 8: Lux**

* * *

Murphy sprang to his feet the instant the news of an approaching fleet fell from the messenger's mouth. Jack and Anamaria were right behind him.

Before he stepped out of the map room, though, he turned and addressed both of them, "This's far bigger than I thin' we realize."

Jack frowned thoughtfully as he stepped back into the sun shining down on the deck of the _Pearl_.

And froze. True, he had already thought this was all a rather big deal as it was, but-

The stunned expression on his face was echoed by the countenances of the other two captains before they hurried back to their respective ships to oversee the attempts to shirk capture. Closing in on their position- which Jack and Anamaria had been sure to set far from all trade routes- was an entire armada.

There was no chance at fleeing. Even if they scrambled to tack their sails to the wind as quickly as possible, the three pirate ships stood little chance of managing to evade an entourage so large. Eventually, they would be overtaken and engaged by the fastest ships, and held back until the rest of the small fleet arrived. Jack estimated at least couple dozen ships in the appraising look he stole before turning to Gibbs. Not an impossibly huge number, but hardly as easily ignored as a singleship or a pair or three.

"Captain?" Gibbs' question was clear: What now?

"Sheet 'er straight at 'em," Jack said, hesitating not even for a moment. "Ready the guns."

Gibbs didn't hesitate either, but quickly complied with the captain's orders, hurrying off to pass on the commands. If he knew anything from his several years' association with Jack, it was the fact that, mad as the man might be, he usually knew what he was doing. In a matter of only a few seconds, the _Pearl_'s crew were working at the sails, opening them to the wind to propel them straight forward, right at the approaching fleet. Others scrambled to prepare the guns.

Of course, it was madness. There was no way the _Black Pearl_, alone or even with the help of the _Gilder _and the _Lux_, could fend off so many ships.

It was a bluff. If Jack's suspicions about them were at all correct, the ships wouldn't attempt any overly aggressive overtures anyway, and the bluff would merely come off as a misplaced show of confidence. However, if it turned out to be necessary to fight, Jack would at least prefer the tact of surprise by doing the unexpected. A surprised enemy is a defeatable enemy, he had always thought.

He was inwardly pleased to note that both Anamaria and Murphy were following suit, unfurling sails and preparing as if for battle. A united front of three ships sailing out to meet the interlopers. Jack climbed up to the helm and turned to watch and wait.

Gwen, from her post, quickly re-counted the ships. Assuming that the group approaching now was the entirety of the fleet, and that there weren't more ships just beyond the horizon, the fleet really wasn't all that large. She tallied twenty-eight again.

Well and good. But the captain wouldn't particularly care to know that just now. He could see for himself roughly how many ships there were, no need to know exactly how many. He was busy overseeing the crew as they hurried to turn sails to wind and ready ammunition and powder.

As the nearest of the ships drew close enough for her to begin making out some detail through her glass, she studied them for signs of armament, this being the most important element for her to look for at this point.

She furrowed her brow. No cannons that she could tell. No real weapons of any sort that she was accustomed to seeing. However, there was a wide structure at the bow of each ship, pointed so that it looked very much like a beak to her. She glanced down, seeking out Jack to see if he had noted this himself.

Jack had already seen them, apparently. She could just make out what he said as he turned toward the red ship and yelled across to the red captain while gesturing out towards the fleet. "_Corvi_!"

_Corvi?_

* * *

"_Captain?_"

"_Gladium reconde, Rufe. They are only bluffing._"

Rufus turned to watched the three ships. Two of the three were larger than the flagship on which he stood. All three of the ships were coming straight at them, rather than fleeing or simply waiting to be boarded.

"_Captain_," he protested carefully, "_we have seen the weapons these sort of ships have. If they truly mean to attack…_"

"," he protested carefully, "" 

The captain heaved a heavy sigh. "_We must find the Lux. If we are to win this war, we must have him. He will not attack, Rufus, once he recognizes us. Bring the fleet to a halt._"

Rufus glanced anxiously at the approaching trio, a little over a league away. How could the _Lux_ not recognize them already? If the _Lux_ knew the fleet, then why was he even feigning attack at all? And they were going to stop dead in the water and wait for it?

Jack narrowed his eyes at the small armada of ships. Not making any aggressive moves at all. Unless he was imagining things, they appeared to be drawing up short and waiting. Were they that confident? Had they seen through his bluff? Or were they just not interested in attacking at all?

At an odd whim, he pulled out his compass and flipped it open. Staring at the angle of the needle, he waved the compass back and forth a bit.

"Gibbs?"

"Aye, Jack," he answered, halting in his tracks. He had been passing by.

"Send John up to relieve Gwen. Get her down here."

Gibbs shot him a confused look, but turned to continue his trek down to the half-deck, calling for the boy as he went. He was accustomed to Jack and his ways. Generally, the way he saw it at least, the stranger Jack's orders were, the better things turned out anyway. No need to question them.

"Nip the sheets," Jack bellowed to the crew at large then. "Weigh anchor."

Some wide eyes turned to him, but most simply complied with the command without question.

Jack watched as both Murphy's and Anamaria's ships followed suit after a moment, abandoning their rushing bluff and opting instead to drop velocity and cruise calmly into the surprise rendezvous with this fleet. Jack was distractedly pleased to note that his companions had both silently named his ship the flagship of their potluck party of pirate vessels,making him the honorary, if temporary, commodore.

But there were more important things to consider. He waited impatiently as the _Pearl_ approached the lead ship of the fleet, the one claiming to be the flagship by its forward position. Finally, Jack left the helm and crossed the ship, going down and all the way forward to the prow.

* * *

"_Is that the captain?_"

Rufus' captain didn't answer the musing question. He merely watched for a moment. A dark-maned figure in hat and coat had just appeared at the prow of the black ship. Finally, after a long pause, he startled Rufus by calling out across the water toward the black ship.

"_Lucem petemus!_" Rufus' captain yelled.

There was no verbal response from the dark-haired man. The captain was about tovoice his requesta different language when Rufus interrupted.

"_Specta_."

The fleet-captain looked toward what the dark figure of the black ship and Rufus were both pointing toward. On the red ship, emblazoned in white lettering, he could just make out "_LUX FORTUNAQUE MUNDI_." He frowned, then looked down at something he held clutched in one hand.

* * *

As Jack waited for a response, Gwen approached behind him.

"Jack… Captain?" she said. "Did you need me?"

He turned his head slightly so he could speak over his shoulder and still keep an eye on the Roman ship. "It's doing it again," he said simply, and passed his compass behind his back to her.

Finally the captain of the other ship looked up again and called back, "_Lux non est_."

Jack frowned deeply, not liking where his thoughts were taking him. _That is not the Light_, the captain claimed.

Murphy had said that his ship had been boarded and searched as a result of its name being noticed. For some reason, though, this captain seemed to know that, despite the ship's unusual name, what he was looking for was not to be found there. Then what _was_ he looking for, if not merely a ship by that name?

"_Is in tue nave est,_" came another shout. _He is on _your_ ship_.

Jack frowned. _He?_

* * *

**

* * *

Latin Guide:**

Lux (loox)- "Light." In most cases in this fic, _Lux_ will be capitalized and you can add 'the': "The Light."

)- "Light." In most cases in this fic, will be capitalized and you can add 'the': "The Light."

Corvi (KOR-wee)- Plural form of _corvus_, as explained in a previous chapter.

- Plural form of , as explained in a previous chapter.

Gladium reconde, Rufe. (GLAH-dee-oom ruh-KON-dah ROO-fey)- This can be translated according to the readers' whim. Taken literally, it simply means "Sheath your sword, Rufus." Taken as an expression, you can take it as "Chill, Rufus. Simmer down."

Lucem petemus. (LOO-kim PET-i-muss)- "We are seeking the Light."

Specta.- "Look."

Lux non est.- "That is not the Light" or "The Light is not there."

Is in tue nave est. (ees in too-ay NAH-way est)- "He is on your ship."


	9. To Rome

Disclaimer: If _Pirates of the Caribbean _stuff is _P_, Delphein's stuff is _D_, and this story is _S_, then _S_ _minus_ _P_ _equals D_. Wasn't that easy?

* * *

Chapter 9: To Rome

* * *

Jack was beginning to seriously dislike the map room. For the third time in less than a week, and for the second time in the same afternoon, he found himself conferring at the table over matters he would really prefer ignoring anyway.

He narrowed his eyes in an appropriately menacing way at the two men sitting across from him, both dressed in simple tunics. He at least felt admittedly better to have them in his custody- er, as his guests, that is- while Murphy and Anamaria kept an uneasy watch on the rest of the fleet. At least if any of the others tried anything, Jack could barter for peace with their commander's life.

"Fine," he said flatly as he came to another dead-end with his inquiries into where they had come from. "Let's start with this, then: what makes ye think I've got something ye want, mates?"

He at least thanked his stars that men had picked up some English along their way. His Latin was only so-so, considering he'd learned so long ago and didn't practice the skill much.

What little information he had actually gleaned from the menso far indicated they'd been around for quite a bit longer than just the few months or so of Anamaria's tales of sightings.

"_Dux_," answered the younger-looking one. Rufus,Jack thought it was; if he remembered the names correctly.

Jack frowned. "A commander?" he translated. So much for them speaking English.

"No. _Guide._ The _Dux_," the younger man corrected.

Ah.

"Ye've got a guide?" Now they were getting somewhere. Jack waved a hand fleetingly and cocked his head. "A guide that led ye to the _Black Pearl_." At their confirmation, he went on, with a purposefully baiting skepticism, "And I'm to believe this?"

The older man, probably around Jack's age, shifted in his seat. He hadn't spoken more than a few words to introduce himself as Gaius Acerbus (GUY-us a-CARE-bis), allowing the subordinate Rufus to stumble through with his vague, misleading explanations.

"Captain," Gaius began carefully. "We are looking for the _Lux_. He did not understand. There was a wrong to right, but he did not. There are now many wrongs to right. We need the _Lux_."

"Forget the _Lux_ for a moment," Jack said, wondering idly if it would be bad form to break out a bottle of rum at this point. "About this _Dux_…"

Gaius hesitated, as though debating how much he should reveal. "It guides us. Sometimes it leads, and sometimes it helps us to lead ourselves."

Jack's eyes narrowed again. Sounded like his own dratted compass. He sighed heavily at the circuitous explanation and tried a different angle. "And what is the _Lux_?"

"Not what. Who. He is on your ship," Rufus answered quickly.

"Aye, we've touched on that," Jack said dryly. "Who is he, then?"

"The _Lux _brings light and fortune into the world."

"And ye think this _Lux_ chap is here, on the _Pearl_, not doing 'is job, is that it?"

Both men simply stared back, not responding.

Jack wished again for some rum. Instead, he leaned forward and tried again, "So we're left with the claim that ye want to take a man off me ship without telling me why ye need 'im or where ye're going, all without any proof."

"The _Dux_," Gaius said solicitously.

_Dux _and _Lux_ again. Jack frowned. Sounded like ridiculous night-time story for small children.

But the Roman commander didn't leave it at that. Reaching within a fold of his tunic, he produced a small, square, carved wooden box with a simple latch at the front. Flipping it open, he set it on the table and scooted it forward for Jack to see.

It was a compass. Jack nearly leapt to his feet in surprise, but instead, grabbing up the compass for a closer look, he leaned forward.

The tone of his voice when he spoke was clear: he understood now what it was they wanted, but would not give it up unless and until he was given what he wanted.

"Tell me why you need this _Lux _of yours," he said. It was not a question. Nor was it quite a demand. It was a suggestion as to what they might do if they were wise. The way that he idly fingered the gun tucked into his sash was a suggestion as well, as to what _he_ might do if they _weren't_ wise.

Apparently, the Romans were either appropriately intimidated or were encouraged by the chance that they might get what they had come for after all. At a curt nod of permission from Gaius, Rufus spoke up.

"The _Lux_ has the ability to… cause things, impossible things, to happen. We need him to ensure our final victory against our enemies. If we do not have the _Lux_, they will find our fortune and rule. We cannot allow this."

Jack flipped the compass, their "_Dux,_" shut and slid it back across the table towards them. For a long moment he stared at the two men, his dark eyes searching them for answers to questions he didn't voice aloud. Then, finally, he leaned back and kicked his feet up onto the table, and almost carelessly, he informed them, "The man ye're looking for is dead. It's a woman that ye want."

_

* * *

"I'm not sure how he meant it." Elizabeth fidgeted with the baby's blankets, rearranging them around his small, sleeping form. "It could have been a warning, I suppose, or perhaps he was trying to tell me something else. But we can't pretend that no one knows anymore, Will."_

Will ran his hands through his hair. "I know," he said, heaving a sigh. "I know."

He met his wife's eyes. And there it was. Yes, between the two of them, they _knew_ all right.

They couldn't just sever their connections with the scoundrels and dogs they called their friends. And that was where the problem lay. If only they could heed the Commodore's advice, put an end to their shady dealings with bandits, and clean up their name and reputation... But that just couldn't be done.

And whether the words the man had spoken had been official warnings from _Commodore_ Norrington or personal words of advice from _James_ Norrington wasn't really even all that important. The fact that he had faced up to them at all was a sort of ultimatum in itself. Straighten up and fly right or he would be forced to act…

"Let's go to Rome, Elizabeth." Rome was where Jack had claimed he and the _Pearl_ were going, wasn't it?

Elizabeth only stared at her husband.

He didn't wait for her to respond, but went on, "Why do we bother with this? You, with this house, and I with the forge, sitting about and going mad day by day."

He gathered Elizabeth into his arms. "I know you," he said quietly into her hair as he leaned his head against hers. "You've too much spirit to watch your life drift by like this."

"You've got the forge," Elizabeth repeated weakly, totally at a loss of how to confront Will's sudden urgency.

"This isn't what _you _want, is it?" Will said, not about to allow himself to be deterred. "You thought it was, but you still dream about that great adventure we had."

She leaned back and looked up at him, agape.

"You talk in your sleep, dear," he said.

"I do not!" she insisted petulantly.

"You do," he said with a grin. "Sometimes." Then, without even pausing for breath, he leapt right back to his former pleas, "Let's go. There's a whole world we're missing."

Elizabeth turned again to regard their son. "We've got him to think of now."

"He's got pirate in his blood," Will said with a grin. "It will be good for him." Privately, he wondered what his life would have been like if he himself had been raised with his father, out at sea.

Elizabeth merely continued staring at young Billy.The babywas supposed to have grounded them, given them both something to live and care for. For two long years, she and Will had fought this very battle that Will was apparently now ready to give in to. Eager for adventure, but held back by society and propriety, they had intentionally done their best to avoid pregnancy. They had feigned disappointment at their lack of children even as they waited anxiously for some sign or opportunity to come by them.

Finally, they had given in to their sedentary lives. They had started a family. With a family to care for, they wouldn't be able to brook this argument anymore. Billy was to bond them to the land. Their holiday on the _Black Pearl_ as they awaited his birth was to be their last foray into the world of salted sea and vaulted ventures.

Elizabeth hugged Will to her, pressing her face into his neck. "Will…" she whispered uncertainly.

He squeezed her around her shoulders, then stepped away from her toward the baby, who had awakened.

Elizabeth watched as Will bent over the figure of their tiny son. In a light-hearted tone that belied the seriousness of what he was suggesting they do, he observed aloud to the infant, "You can become a good man without living a dull life. How about we show you a life worth living, eh, Billy?"

* * *

Gwen had entered the map room warily when she was called, her eyes on the two strangers. When one of them had surreptitiously flipped open a small, squarish box, and then looked up at her, it hadn't been lost on her. She had glanced quickly to Jack, but he hadn't been surprised at all. He had only met her eyes for a moment, then turned back to the Romans.

"This is the granddaughter and only living heir," he had told them, "of your _Lux_, William Jacobs."

He had then had Gwen pull out his compass, which she still had. In her hand, it pointed them eastward. But what had astounded Gwen most was when Jack motioned for the men to pass _their _compass to her. She was shocked to see that it too pointed to herself before she touched it. Then, it spun round to point out the same direction as Jack's.

The older of the two men had then said, in oddly accented, slowly spoken English, "It guides us to you, our _Lux_. And now you guide us into battle."

It had then been decided that the convoy of Roman ships and the three pirate vessels would sail together across the Atlantic and into the Mediterranean Sea. Jack felt confident enough with the arrangement, especially considering that _he_ had control over what they claimed to want and need the most: Gwen. Furthermore, the Roman commander and his second-hand agreed to remain, though certainly not without many initial arguments, aboard the _Pearl_ as insurance against any double-crossing.

Now, though, Gwen was more confused than ever.

It was night now. Jack had gone below decks to see their guests safely settled quite a while ago. No doubt he was also seeing to it that his men discreetly kept guard of them.

In his absence, Gwen was trying to puzzle out the situation she found herself in. According to what Jack had told her before he left her alone in the cabin an hour or two ago, her grandfather had apparently been entrusted with some unknown significant mission some time ago. He had failed to do it, apparently going mad with greed when he realized the nature of his gift, which had also been pointed out to him at the time. His failure had allowed matters to worsen to the point that an entire convoy had now been sent out to look for him, to drag him back themselves.

Which left her to trouble through several questions. First of all, what was this gift that she had inherited from him? And secondly, why were there… she certainly thought she would never find herself asking these questions… why were armies and fleets of men and ships returning inexplicably from centuries past to shepherd _her_ halfway across the world for the sake of some unnamable goal? And what was this goal that she was supposed to accomplish? What about the battle they spoke of?

The door suddenly swung open, and Jack tramped in, doffing his hat as he shut the door behind him. He sighed heavily as he set his beloved old tricorne down beside the meal tray on his desk and reached automatically for his mug of rum as he flopped down into his chair.

Gwen suddenly realized, somewhat guiltily, that she'd eaten the lion's share of the food, leaving him with only a single chicken leg and a couple pieces of bread. She silently set down the apple she'd been munching on, leaving the last half of it for him.

"When ye first showed up on the _Pearl_, I thought ye would be a damned inconvenience," Jack said with a wry grin after a moment.

"And I thought you were more like a wild animal, with a mane to boot," Gwen rejoined, sitting down on his lap as she handed him the remaining chicken leg, silently hoping he wouldn't examine the meal tray too closely and discover the few remaining scraps of food.

Jack bit into the meat, then around his mouthful, he said, "I was right about ye."

"_I_ was right about _you_," Gwen said, unfazed.

"I decided I like inconveniences sometimes."

"I like your mane."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment before she said simply, "To Rome."

"Aye, to Rome… Were ye hungry, lass?"****


	10. Never So Simple

Disclaimer: If _Pirates of the Caribbean_ stuff is _P_, Delphein's stuff is _D_, and this story is _S_, then _S minus_ _P equals_ _D_. Savvy?

_

* * *

A/N: It's been a while since I've posted, methinks. But while I wasn't writing, our friends Jack and Gwen et al were already on their way across the Atlantic. I hurried to catch up with them, and luckily, I caught them before they made it Rome. So here we all are, somewhere between Gibraltar and lovely old Rome. Share and enjoy. (Ooh, book quote… cookies for anyone who can spot where it came from…) _

* * *

Chapter 10: Never So Simple

* * *

"What's it like?" 

"What's what like?" Gwen, curled at Jack's side, answered drowsily as she made herself comfortable for sleep.

"Ye know… with th' little whelp and all…" Jack explained, his tone reflective, one hand brushing over her stomach.

"Being pregnant?" Gwen sighed, then slowly admitted, "Well, I'd rather not be."

Jack sounded surprised when he responded, "Why not?"

From his point of view, it just seemed as though everything were bigger. Her tummy, obviously, was growing more by the week, it seemed. He wasn't too shy to admit he'd noticed her breasts were fuller. Her appetite... Well, he had developed some very defensive habits when it came to his own food. Like consuming it as quickly as possible, before she finished hers andstarted looking for more.

But other than having to guard his meals from her, he was actually strangely thrilled by her changing appearance. And outside of those minor details, the idea of a pregnancy seemed normal enough to him. He'd seen the whores before, lurking in the back halls of bars, hiding away until they gave birth and could return to their work.

Gwen didn't move at all to try to look at him in the dark, but kept on speaking calmly from the pillow beside him. "_You_ don't even have to worry about carrying the child," she pointed out matter-of-factly. "But are you ready to be a father?"

"Why not?" He half-shrugged, as well as a man can when he's lying down with his lover, rounded belly and all, pressed against hisside. If he could captain a ship, sack Nassau without ever firing a shot, defeat cursed mutineers, convince an entire American settlement to surrender all of their gold to him without quarrel, and achieve numerous other grand feats, then he could certainly handle a youngster.

"Mmm," Gwen said sleepily. It was a patronizing sort of sound. "Fathering a child and parenting a child are different things, Jack. You've done the one, you still have to do the other."

There was a long silence as he mulled this over. If she could have seen in the dark, had she not had her eyes closed anyway with trying to fall asleep, she would have seen him raise his eyebrow, then give another little shrug. Doing "the one" had been easy enough. Rather pleasurable to tell the truth. He briefly wondered which of their varied and numerous encounters had actually conceived the little whelp, but found he couldn't keep any of them straight and abandoned the pursuit. Anyway. If fathering it was so easy, why wouldn't "the other" be as simple?

"So what's it like?" he asked, returning to his original inquiry.

Gwen had been almost asleep. "Eh?" she asked wearily as she tried to piece together his words. "Oh." She yawned. "It's… well, it's tiring." Luckily, at least, she hadn't suffered nearly as much of the nausea Elizabeth had warned her to expect. She _had _been plagued by terrible headaches, though they seemed to be waning already. _'Tiring' _seemed to fit all of her other symptoms as well as all her thoughts on the matter.

"Ye're worried," Jack observed suddenly, point-blank.

Gwen gave up on sleep for the time being, moving one arm up to prop her head on. With a sigh, she confessed in a low tone, "Yes, I am worried."

"Why?"

"Because… I'm not sure I know what to do with a baby."

He didn't respond.

After a moment of hesitation, Gwen added, "And because of what happened to my mother."

Ah. Jack suddenly remembered how, as she'd told him, Gwen had lost both her mother and younger brother in childbirth. Her soft words and allusions to this startled him somehow.

Naturally, Jack could see her in the present times, her abdomen slowly rounding outward with child. But he had also seen in his mind's eye into the future, once or twice, and imagined himself teaching a half-grown youngster about sailing a ship and how to recognize opportunities ripe for the taking.

But, of course, that adolescent he imagined would have to be a helpless little infant before it would be any fun. And he had to admit he didn't know anything about those. Furthermore, before there was the little infant, Gwen would have to labor to bring it into the world. He'd somehow forgotten that paltry little detail.

Obviously, Gwen hadn't forgotten.

"Ye're not going to die," he told her flatly.

Gwen wasn't sure whether the odd tone of his voice was due more to him trying to reassure _her_ or to reassure _himself_. But, unaccountably, she still felt strangely a little comforted by his categorical denial of the danger she was facing. She settled down onto the pillow again, and after a while Jack thought she had finally fallen asleep.

"Jack?"

"Mm?"

"I…" she faltered, as though having to sort out her words. "I'm glad it's yours."

Jack turned his head to peer at her shadowy form in the dark, somewhat taken aback by her declaration. His. His child.

The thought occurred to him that there was no way to be certain that he didn't already have children by some harlot or other somewhere. But even if so, they weren't his. Not in the same way. Whores' babies belonged to every man and to no man.

He watchedGwen until her breathing steadied and slowed.

She wouldn't die. Heavens be damned if they tried to take her. And as for rearing an infant… Jack frowned to himself. Well, what _were_ you supposed to do with them, after all? He wondered if they liked rum…

* * *

Elizabeth blew out her breath in a sigh of satisfaction. Standing nearby, Will turned towards her at the sound. 

"What are you thinking?"

"I was just thinking… it seems like so long ago when we left. You know, I'm not even sure I remember every part of our own house."

Will laughed, coming over to stand behind her and peer out at the horizon over her shoulder. "We've only been gone… what has it been? A few weeks?Just amonth or so?" he pointed out.

"I know," she grinned. Then she went on, changing subjects slightly, "We could just become merchant sailors, Will. With this lovely little ship. We could. I wonder what Father would think."

To this Will made no reply, but he became antsy, shifting uneasily at her comment about the ship they were sailing across the Atlantic. He gave his wife's arm an affectionate, patronizing squeeze, then turned away, leaving her to her musing thoughts.

As he moved further astern across the deck, he called out, "Brant!"

Their own butler, Brant, had been something of a surprise when they had discreetly revealed to him their plans of travel. Rather than merely benignly agreeing to see to their small estate in their extended absence, as he usually would have, he had volunteered eagerly to come with them as soon as he realized Will intended to hire a private ship and crew himself for their journey. Brant the butler, as it turned out, had been Brant the sailor before he had come into his position in the Turner household.

Will had discovered from him, after his initial astonishment melted away, the Brant had been a dealer of goods all across the high seas before he had decided to leave the business. But, reading between the lines, Will surmised that the calm, refined gentleman had actually been a dealer of _shady_ goods of some sort, and that his decision to land himself had been hastened by some legal or other threat to his questionable business dealings.

Though he felt guilty about it, Will didn't share with Elizabeth much more than the fact that their butler was in fact a man of the sea and eager to lend his know-how to help them. But for his own part, he had gladly accepted the aid and had enlisted Brant as the first (and the head) of their crew.

Now, crossing the deck and wiping his hands on a cloth which he then returned to his pocket, Brant responded courteously, "William."

He would not, after having been a serving man to Will, call him by a casual name. He had eventually conceded, however, that his role and relation to his master had changed and "Mr. Turner" was unnecessary. So, as a compromise between Will's nickname and surname, he called him by his unabbreviated given name.

"Brant," Will began conversationally, though he kept his voice low and glanced around. "If I were a sailor of ill repute- perhaps a pirate- well, if I were, and I were sailing into Rome, where would I go, do you think?"

The older, taller man fixed Will with a look of bemusement. "I will be able to find your friends when the time comes," he said cryptically.

William offered a grateful smile but his face melted into a confused frown as soon as the former butler walked away. There was clearly even more to him than he had thought. At the same time as this consideration, another thought occurred to him, though certainly not for the first time. He couldn't shake the feeling that they had chosen quite a time indeed to invite themselves back into Jack's world of intrigue and excitement. As always with Jack, there was no telling what he was really up to, but Will was certain that, once they found him, they were going to be in for a quite a venture.

-------------------

Gwen barely avoided a slinging bucket as she ducked behind Jack for cover.

Mistake.

With a yell, mostly just for the sake of adding more noise to the bedlam, he turned against her, reaching behind to drag her around in front of him and then forcing her ahead of him across the deck right toward Ben Blades.

"Get her," Jack encouraged his crewman loudly, nodding at the bucket the man was swinging haphazardly about.

From somewhere behind her and to the right, Gwen heard a shout and ringing laughter which meant that yet another had fallen victim to the weapons of watery destruction.

For good measure, and to counteract Jack's continuous bellowing about how dry she still was, Gwen screamed a great deal herself. That is, in between fits of laughter at other crewman getting hit and then dashing off after their pursuers with mops and wet bandanas.

Jack's efforts to attract his crew's attention to himself and his captive were suddenly rewarded by two full buckets of water- overturned on his own head. Gwen laughed as the water splashed and ran down her back as well.

In seconds she had escaped the now-dripping Jack and laid hold of a bucket for herself. As she was turning to attack Jack for his traitorous handling though, Smithy, whose weapon she had just snatched away, dodged after her. She fled across the deck, sidestepping around other crewmen and their prey, as quickly as she could go without actually running, since her rounding stomach was just beginning to make her too awkward for it.

She snickered gleefully as she ducked an incoming stray rag sopped in water and was gratified at the wet _slap_ as it nailed her pursuer.

Her merriment fled away itself, though, when she suddenly found herself face-to-face with the serious, frowning visage of Mr. Cotton. He was by far the quietest, most reserved crewman aboard the _Pearl _(however understandably so), and Gwen didn't spend nearly as much time with him as she did with his more sociable counterparts. Truthfully, she was quite intimidated by him.

From somewhere nearby and behind her, and over the sound of the melee, she could hear his parrot: "Anchors aweigh! Anchors aweigh!" She turned reflexively to seek out the bird-

-and found herself soaked in the next instant. Cotton grinned a jokingly malicious grin at her before he quickly scooted off to reload his bucket and seek out another target.

Gwen bent slowly to retrieve her bucket (which had plunked to the deck, sloshing water over her ankles, at her surprise at being drenched), but her weapon was snatched away and upended over her head before you could say, "Rumrunner."

She turned in mock outrage, sputtering at the salty water from her double-dousing. Jack merely flashed a devilish grin at her before darting away to attack someone else.

This water fight had started very quickly. In the absolute absence of a decent wind, the crews of the several ships of the little armada, pirate and Roman alike, had nothing to do. The _Black Pearl_ and most of the Roman ships as well were equipped with sweeps and could paddle themselves across the surface of the water when necessary. But with no immediate goal of land or any other sort of end in sight, there was no reason yet to exhaust manpower at the task of rowing the ships along.

Young John, aboard the _Pearl_, had taken it upon himself to scrub down the decks while there was nothing better to do and had lowered a few buckets over the side to draw water.

Then, whether Gwen or Tunnel had seized for a bucket first is irrelevant; in a matter of seconds, two others of their crewmates were suddenly quite damp and vengeful.

And then hell broke loose. A very wet hell.

But just as quickly--as Gwen was standing, with one hand unconsciously resting atop her prominent stomach, glancing up at the still-empty half-furled sails--it was all over.

After nearly all day without a breath of a breeze to stir the sheets, the sails were full and straining. Buckets and soaked kerchiefs were abandoned as eager sailors leapt up to tend the sails. In the water all around the _Pearl_, her companion vessels were rejoicing in the wind as well.

Gwen stooped carefully to pick up a bucket lying overturned near her, helping to quickly clean up the evidence of their sporting now that the wind was back.

Nobody begrudged the end of the fun now considering the trade-off of regaining their force of locomotion. They'd suffered through several days in a row of dead seas more than once on this trip, in fact, twice alone since they'd passed through the Strait of Gibraltar. To have lost only ten hours in the lapse this time--

Gwen's idle thoughts faded away as her load of stacked buckets was taken from her.

She looked up, in some surprise, to see Gaius Acerbus standing before her, dripping wet himself. He must have simply wandered up from below decks at entirely the wrong time, for Gwen couldn't picture the Roman commander participating willingly in the madness that had just passed. And indeed, he seemed rather disdainful of his wet clothes.

"Gaius," she said slowly in acknowledgement. "Thank you" seemed be a good addition to the conversation after that, thanks for his taking her load from her. But beyond that, she didn't know what to say. Despite all the time they had spent on the same ship together now, she never knew how to conduct herself around him. She wasn't sure, at times, whether he thought of her only as a tool to accomplish whatever goal he was striving towards, or as something nearly reaching a goddess. He sometimes seem to treat her as both. Either way, she was uneasy with him.

"Gwendolyn," the man said politely in acknowledgement. "A word with you, perhaps?"

Gwen merely nodded, allowing him to lead her toward the map room. He handed the small stack of buckets off to a crewman they passed, and then opened the door for Gwen.

Once seated across from each other at one end of the table, Gaius wasted no time in broaching his concerns to her.

"You have spent more time with Rufus then with myself in the past several weeks," he began simply.

Sensing from his tone that this was not an accusation but only a statement, Gwen nodded her agreement of the assessment-- his subordinate, Rufus, had in fact been more personable than his superior in associating himself with the crew of his host-ship. Gaius went on.

"You may, from him, have incorrect ideas. Rufus is not aware of as much as he thinks."

Gwen merely stared, at a loss for how to take or interpret that declaration. True, Rufus had dropped a few further hints of the "battle" and how she was to help them win it, but she certainly didn't consider them to be enlightening tidbits. She was still as confused as ever.

"Gwendolyn, it is clear to me you do not understand your own power. You waste it simply on influencing games with these men on this ship. But you have a greater task to perform. And you must not be influenced by any but me on it."

Before Gwen could respond to this, he continued, his voice even lower than before, so that she had to lean forward to hear him, "You could have brought the wind much faster today. In the end you will have to do far greater than this. You cannot let us down."

Then he rose and, pointing toward the map spread out further down at the middle of the table, he said, "We approach Rome soon now. _Vale_."

Then he left her before she could even echo his "good-bye."

Gwen sat alone in the map room for a long while. How long, exactly,she could not say. Time slipped very slowly by. She was shaken by the man's words, so gently spoken yet so admonitory, allusions to her abilities and how she supposedly wasted them. She tried to imagine what it was she was expected to do, what more he might possibly demand of her.

Bring the wind, he had mentioned. Bring the wind? Had she…? No, it wasn't possible. She hadn't even _tried_ to "bring the wind back" anyway, let alone considering if she was even capable of it. And Gaius said there were even greater things she would be expected to accomplish for him. For them.

As she sat thus ruminating on her mysterious abilities and Gaius' expectations of her, images came suddenly unbidden into her mind.

Ghastly images of the now-deceased crewman Ol' Cannon Tom, his face a death mask of terror.

Images of Jack, collapsing to the gold-scattered floor of the cave on her grandfather's island, unable to fight the invisible hand of death closing around him.

Images of that same cave going hazy and then dark before her own eyes as she tried to maintain control over her hand with the gun, fighting the same creeping death.

The death her grandfather had wielded.


	11. Rome and Rum

Disclaimer: Fanfiction. _(fan- fik'-shun)_, n. A form of writing which does not pay enough to support a dead flea. Savvy?_

* * *

N.B.: Just in case any eye-for-detail readers wonder: yes, the Black Pearl__ left Port Royal a few days before Will and Elizabeth. But they didn't have to make a detour to rendezvous with AnaMaria. Besides all of which, it's faster to travel alone, with just one ship, and we can assume that Will and company had relatively good luck with wind, sea, and storm._

_

* * *

Chapter 11: Rome and Rum_

* * *

The day of the _Pearl_'s arrival into the port of Rome dawned bright and clear.

Or it did for Jack anyway. He, in fact, slept for nearly an hour and a half past dawn, so he missed the haze that had actually obscured the sun's dawning.

When he woke, he immediately noticed Gwen's absence from his bed… and his cabin as well.

He made a mental note to ask Will, the next time he saw him, about how eccentrically Elizabeth had behaved while carrying their young son.

When Gwen had finally gotten over the worst of her headaches, she had also begun to grow too cumbersome for climbing up to her usual post in the crow's nest. Besides which, her persisting fatigue kept her sleeping, napping, and dozing as much as a cat might.

But in the past couple of weeks or so, her remaining few headaches hadn't been more than just dull throbbings, her blessedly few queasy spells vanished altogether, and her exhaustion had melted away.

And now Jack was beginning to think he had caught that exhaustion from her where she had left off. She was now as energetic as ever, if not more so, flitting about the ship quicker than he could even think of trying to keep track of. Gwen was feeling young and vibrant, and he was starting to feel, for the first time, his own age creeping over him.

But many nights, she had been bringing her newfound liveliness to bed with her as well. Though she made snide comments about her own growing stomach, ignoring his sincere assurances that he actually found her new fertile figure very arousing, she had been anything but reserved lately.

Jack groaned involuntarily as he forced himself out of bed this morning. After Gwen had seduced him last night, she had made an idle, cryptic statement that she thought she had finally figured out what Gaius had meant by his talk with her several days earlier. And then she'd fallen asleep. And, by the looks of things, she'd sprang up this morning and disappeared again, leaving him to his own devices while she sauntered about the ship causing mischief.

He glanced about the room wearily, trying to locate his clothes. Or at least enough of them to keep the men from snickering and shooting him knowing glances at his overly rumpled appearance when he emerged.

Finally assembling himself somewhat decently, he stamped into his boots, flopped his hat over his dreadlocks, and went out to greet the morning, however unwillingly he did so.

He wasn't quite prepared for the sight that greeted him, though. His two Roman guests were standing on opposites sides of the main deck, both staring out and back towards their fleet. Or, what was left of it, anyway.

Jack turned to look out to sea as well and witnessed the ancient ships disappearing, one by one, before his very eyes.

But strangely enough... he didn't find it strange at all. As much as he'd seen in his life and as much as he'd _had_ to believe, it didn't take much to wrap his mind around the idea of these disappearing ships. Besides, he'd already been forewarned they could do it.

But heeasily figured out_why_ they must be disappearing. He knew very well that they were approaching Rome very soon, and the Romans knew as well as he that there was no need to attract undue attention when they sailed into port.

And _that_'s what really caught his attention: they were going to arrive in Rome today, finally--good weather and wind holding. He'd all but forgotten in his exhaustion.

He was eager to find a tavern once a-land and sit down over a few pints with AnaMaria and Murphy. Even though basic communication from ship to ship was easy enough, carrying on detailed conversations with his fellow captains was implausible over their journey. He had the feeling his old pal Murphy knew something that he _hadn't_ told Jack, and that AnaMaria had something that she _wanted _todiscuss with him.

He hadn't yet decided whether or not to tell either of them everything that _he _knew, though. No one had been privy to all that passed between Gaius, Rufus, and Gwen but himself. And he wasn't sure he wanted his own crew any more curious about Gwen than they already were, let alone having AnaMaria and, especially, Murphy interrogating her.

* * *

AnaMaria swallowed another mouthful of her rum, eyeing both men in turn. "So you've pointed out that the name _Helen _and the word _lux _both translate to mean 'light.'"

Murphy nodded. "Aye," he said over his own tankard.

AnaMaria waited.

"Not so much a name, is Helen," Jack finally volunteered, giving Murphy an odd look. His friend had been obsessed with these obscure legends of ancient history back when they had sailed under the same sails and colors several years ago. In fact, the red-haired man had looped Jack into assisting him in some of his ventures, sallying forth to attempt to sort out the tales (assistance for which Jack had been more than well-compensated for).

"_Helen_ was more of a title," Jack added helpfully, fully expecting Murphy to jump in at any time.

"As in Helen of Troy?" AnaMaria offered.

"Zack'ly!" Murphy said then. "She were'n jes' a pretty face. No woman's worth a thoosan' ships."

AnaMaria fixed him with a flat glare at this, but he didn't seem to notice and plowed on, "But if the woman were'n jes' a woman… fer instance, if sh' could shake th' earth, whip up th' sea, kill a man withou' touchin' 'im, and bring wealth to 'er patrons… well, tha'd be a woman to fight for."

"How come I've never heard of this before?" AnaMaria asked, a bit skeptically.

"How often do ye tell people about yer greatest weapons and tricks?" Jack asked pointedly, grinning at her.

"As often as I like," she shot back at Jack. "_I've_ got wits to think up new ones faster'n they can keep onto."

Murphy went on, ignoring their exchanged words, as well as the scowl Jack was shooting at AnaMaria. "Tha's the closest it's ever come t' bein' mentioned in history," he explained. "Ol' Jack's right. Th' ancien's kept mention of 'em low, so's none's enemies knew where they were to steal 'em away. Course, it's clear Rome-" with his brogue, it sounded more like he was saying 'rum', and Jack grinned- "foond th' fam'ly line. There're plenty o' battles they should ha' lost. Tha's evidence they had their '_lux_' with 'em.

"But fer all that, there's no mention of their existence or where they came from. And tha's where th' legends come in. Legends say there be a line o' family what Helen was a part of. And I, fer one, I think they're still alive today, somewhere. And these Romans Jack's got knows how to find 'em, aye, Jack?"

Jack merely nodded distractedly. Then, as though coming back to himself, he cleared his throat and nodded emphatically. "Yeah, yeah." He cleared his throat again."Yes."

AnaMaria gave Jack a suspicious look, then turned to stare at the hairy red man for a long moment. "And why do _you _want to find them?"

"I don't,"Murphy assured her abruptly. He started to say something else, then stopped and shook his head slightly before starting again, "They've stayed oot o' thought for so long for good reason. _No_," he said emphatically. "Reason it matters so much is so's we ken keep our Roman pals from finding them."

"Or else, death and destruction?" AnaMaria asked derisively.

"They'll be wantin' to save th' empire, and needin' lots o' help to do it," Murphy put in reasonably.

AnaMaria frowned. "So you claim the Romans came up from their graves to look for this obscure bloodline of sorcerers to help them take back the Mediterranean?"

"In a manner of puttin' it… aye."

"Why now?" AnaMaria asked flatly. "They've had a few hundred years to find help. A bit late to save their bloody empire now, don't you think?"

* * *

Gwen watched idly as a young lady across the street in a long, silken gown strolled by in the late afternoon sun, with her escort at her side. It was odd to think that, not all that long ago, she'd been just like her. Dressed in finery, fully expecting to marry comfortably, settle down, and be perfectly content. But just look at what she would have been missing!

Gwen sighed. Missing, indeed. Well, she was missing out on Jack's meeting with his fellow captains now, for one thing. She had the niggling feeling that conversation would be about her, in some way. She desperately wanted to go and eavesdrop, find out what they really knew about everything. In fact, she half-turned and almost set off toward the direction of the pub she had seen them enter half an hour ago.

"Where're we goin' now, Gwen?" came an amiable voice beside and slightly behind her.

Gwen had to contain a sigh of frustration. "Nowhere. We're going nowhere. _I'm _going nowhere," she said dully, watching as the lady and her escort noticed herself and her own escort and then tried to disguise her curiosity.

The next she saw of Jack, she'd wring his neck. And then wipe that impish grin off his face, which she knew was the response he usually gave her when she was upset with him. A chaperone. Why on earth did she need a chaperone? She was _carrying_ a child, that didn't mean she _was_ one.

Ben nodded boredly at her words, but trailed along behind her when she began walking quickly up the street.

Jack had asked thatBen keep his eye on her no matter where she went, andBen had obligingly assured his captain he would do so. Truth be told, any of the men would have gladly accepted the duty. True, there were perhaps two or three of the youngest fellows who lusted after her still, though they were wise enough to keep it to themselves. But to the rest of the crew, at her twenty years, she was more like a young treasured niece to them. And when it had become apparent to them all that she was pregnant (and that Serge _hadn't_ been wrong in his early guess about her condition), it had only increased the protective way they felt about her.

Still, Ben wasn't blind. He could see Gwen was irritated at having him follow her about like a child, especially since, in the past, she had even wandered the streets of Tortuga alone without Jack flinching in the least at the thought. Thus, he was at least trying to give her a bit of distance, but not so much that he couldn't leap to her side in a split second.

And leap he nearly did when Gwen suddenly stopped to address herself to a man on the street. Gwen had hesitated, but the man had apparently noticed her as well and halted his steps. But that wasn't enough to incite Ben's protective reflex. What nearly caused him to jump out of his skin was _who _she had stopped to talk to.

The old gentleman smuggler himself.

"Brant! If it's not ol' smoke-brained Brant hisself," Ben exclaimed, coming from behind Gwen to grasp the man's hand enthusiastically. Lowering his voice somewhat, considering their location on a public street, he went on, "There's those that say ye left the business."

Brant's eyes flicked toward Gwen, who by now had obviously convinced herself that yes, this _was _the Turner's butler, then he looked back to Ben Blades.After a short pause,he cracked a puckish grin and said, "I had an offer I couldn't refuse."

The evasive answer didn't fool Ben in the slightest. "An offer to go elsewhere, or an 'offer' to _leave off_?" he asked knowingly.

Brant hesitated, and that was all the answer Ben needed. So the man _had _been forced out of the rum-running trade.

As though noticing he was being remiss in his manners, and to change the subject away from his own past, he turned to Gwen. "Miss, ah… Webster, isn't it?"

Gwen frowned slightly. She hadn't heard the name of Webster in quite a while and had nearly forgotten she even owned a surname. "It's Gwen," she corrected.

"Ah, yes... Gwendolyn. What luck to run into you like this! Miss Elizabeth was hoping she would find you when the _Black Pearl _finally made it into Rome. It seems she has something important to discuss with you."

"Elizabeth? They're here, here in Rome?" It occurred to her, belatedly, to wonder about the fact that Brant, whom she had always thought to be suspicious but oblivious to Jack's and her own occupation, mentioned the _Pearl_ so carelessly.

"Certainly," Brant said. "That's why I'm here as well. Though it was rather sudden, really, when they decided to come."

"Where is she?"

"Well, I can take you to her, if you wish, Miss Gwendolyn."

"Yes!" Gwen exclaimed. "By all means." Elizabeth and Will here? And their little boy as well she would assume. Why? What on earth could be so important that Elizabeth would track her down like this?

As they began to walk back down the street, the direction she'd just come, with Gwen sandwiched between the two men, she wondered too about the butler himself. A former pirate, perhaps? If Ben knew him, he must have once been involved in something illicit.

Would there never be end to all the little mysteries?


	12. The Wonders of Wood

Completely Objective Disclaimer: If anything illegal is taking place here, I'm completely innocent. Unless I'm guilty. In which case, I still didn't do it!

_

* * *

A/N: The title to this chapter is special, as in, different. Normally, the title has a special meaning. This title, however, is simply a tribute to a commercial I saw that was so wrong I burst out laughing for the rest of the commercial break. Cookies to those who recognize the reference to which commercial (it's an American one, sorry to those across the pond who read). But if you still want to work out some profound meaning in the title after reading, have at it... The author snickers cryptically... _

* * *

Chapter 12: The Wonders of Wood

* * *

"Isn't it a bit early to be going to the women?" Anamaria asked boredly as she finished her rum.

Jack ran thumb and forefinger over his mustache idly. "He's not going to the women," he said of Murphy, who had left the two of them abruptly a few moments earlier, at the end of their discussion.

"How do you know?" AnaMaria asked skeptically, shooting him a 'prove-it' look across the table.

He didn't even deign to look at her, but continued staring down into his tankard. He had just a few swallows of rum left. If he drank it now, he could call the tavern wench and order another. And another after that one. And another after that one. He was tired of rationing out his rum on the ship. But for now, it was much too early in the day anyway for heavy drinking, being only mid-afternoon, and besides which, there was too much going on for him to let himself lose control just now.

So if he just swirled the last of his rum around, watching it sparkle, taking just a small sip at a time, it would last. And his relative sobriety would last as well, at least until dark.

In answer to AnaMaria's question, he merely said then, "He didn't go to the brothels because he can't. He's a eunuch." He accompanied the words with a flick of his wrist and whooshing whistle.

AnaMaria rolled her eyes, and fixed him with an expectant glare, one eyebrow lifted.

Jack narrowed his eyes and shifted his gaze from his remaining companion to the door of the nearly-empty tavern, through which Murphy had passed a few minutes earlier. Speaking in a low tone, he shared the obvious answer that presented itself to him, "He's meeting someone." Then, dismissing that matter for the moment, turning to eye AnaMaria, he asked, "Where did ye find him , after we met a month or so ago? And why did he agree to come?"

"Jack, you know better'n I do how he hunts after old legends and such. He just happened to be in Tortuga that week. Didn't seem too surprised, just hitched off with me to the rendezvous, all excited to participate. He was all I could raise short-notice."

Jack yawned, his face settling into a frown as he exhaled. "What was he doing in Tortuga?"

"What do _you_ do in Tortuga?" AnaMaria asked wryly.

The teasing question brought to mind the last time Jack had been in that place of wonders. He'd had quite a lot to drink. _Quite_ a _lot_. Apparently Gwen had seen that he'd at least made it back to the _Pearl_, though he couldn't recall whether she'd been around him all evening or not. He'd awoken very late the next morning, almost noon, to find himself lying on his stomach, stark naked, atop the bed covers in his cabin--with a couple of very tender wounds on his rump, and a very amused Gwen smirking at him across the room.

"At least I found your hat," she had told him. Then she'd left to go fetch him some food to help with his hangover.

Jack hadn't yet found the courage to ask Gwen exactly what had happened.

Now, he cleared his throat noisily and responded to AnaMaria's baiting question, "I'll let ye know when I find out."

She shook her head bemusedly.

"What I meant," Jack went on, "is that I haven't heard of Murphy being around ina few years. Haven't even seen 'im meself till now. He used to be all over, investigatin' for his hobby and robbin' for his keep. Why'd he turn up _now_, an' where's he been?"

"He said he'd already seen the Romans, been boarded by them," AnaMaria reasoned. "So maybe he just heard some of the rumors, and that flushed 'im out. They found him, then sent him on his way as useless, and he went back to brood and drink."

"He said he met themhere in the Mediterranean, though. Why was he back in the Caribbean to be in Tortuga?"

"If you're thinking what you look like you're thinking…"

Jack waved her sentence away. "I'm thinking about what it looks like _Murphy's_ thinking, and if _he's_ thinking what _I_ think he's thinking, I think I'm going to be sick of thinking, because it looks like he's thinking about things I'd rather not think about."

AnaMaria blinked at him, not about to trouble with trying to sort all of that out.

Jack, seemingly oblivious, flicked his fingers at her tankard as he decisively emptied his own. "Have another?"

* * *

Rufus ducked inside a tavern, followed closely by his companion. The two made an interesting contrast: Rufus with his dark hair, moderate build and classic features; the other man tall, robust, and very red.

"That was Jack's wench, wunnit?" the red-haired man asked offhandedly.

Rufus answered an affirmative, then glanced around the bar they found themselves in. "I do not think she or her two companions saw us," he said reassuringly, then gestured the taller man toward a table in the back. "We can talk here."

Murphy followed, mumbling, "What's she doin' with _'im_? And wha's th' ol' bum doin' in Rome 'imself?"

"What?"

Murphy shook his head, making a mental note to personally check into the reappearance of Brant the rumrunner later. Waving an idling barmaid over, he ordered drinks for both of them, though he'd already had a couple while talking with Jack and AnaMaria in the last bar.

Rufus fidgeted in the contemporary garb he now sported to blend in with the crowds easier. It itched in places he wasn't quite used to itching in.

Finally, the lass returned and plunked their drinks down on their table. They had ordered something, so their obligation to the establishment was fulfilled. The barmaid had brought them their order, so the establishment's obligation to them was fulfilled. Now they could talk.

Murphy leaned toward Rufus, and began point-blank, "What's happened since we last met?"

Rufus paused to consider the question. He had first met Murphy when the red-haired man and his red ship had tracked down the small fleet he and his superior, Gaius Acerbus, commanded. That had been several months ago now. Murphy had offered to help them in their mission to find their _Lux_, and then, to help them in their "grand quest." He had argued that because he knew the modern world better than they did, he would be an asset to them. Gaius had politely refused his assistance, but Rufus hadn't agreed with that decision.

This hadn't been the first time he'd sneaked behind his commander's back. Although there was always the chance of being caught and being disowned by Gaius' fleet, he had secretly bargained for Murphy's aid. Rufus was no fool and realized that Murphy obviously wanted something. Regardless of motives, the two men had shared just enough information to realize that both Murphy's ship and Rufus' fleet already had plans to head into the Caribbean to continue the search. Murphy only intended to hunt down Jack Sparrow, his old legend-hunting partner, but Rufus knew his commander to be following their compass-guide into the foreign waters.

Now Rufus frowned, not quite sure where to begin with what things were significant in what had passed since the last time he had seenMurphy alone.

Murphy prompted, "Is Jack in on this or no? I would'na ask him myself. We were'na alone earlier, and I know AnaMaria would'na agree w' helping ye."

"Captain Sparrow," Rufus began, carefully repeating the name and title the same way Gaius always said it, "has been of some use to us, but he has _not_ agreed to help us defeat the enemy. In fact, I am not certain of how much of the upcoming battle he knows about. Gaius expects the rest of the fleet to arrive within the week. Once we have reassembled in Rome port, we will be ready to attack."

"So Jack found yer _Lux_, then? He knew? I know tha's why ye found our three ships before, in the Caribbean, w' yer compass." Murphy leaned conspiratorially closer. "Who is it? Did 'e actually 'ave him there on 'is _Pearl_ a'ready?"

Rufus remembered their bargain. Murphy had offered advice for finding their all-important _Lux _and had promised to help keep interlopers from interfering with the fleet's great battle plans. He had also provided Rufus witha great deal of very useful information about sailing the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea, bodies of water that had been frequented by Rufus in his own time. In trade for this help, Rufus would devise a way for Murphy to "borrow" the _Lux_ for his own use for a brief period of time. An understandable desire. And thus, an understandable reason why the red man would be more interested in the _Lux_ at this point than in minute details of the upcoming battle.

"We _have_ found the _Lux_," Rufus said, watching the pleased grin that spread across Murphy's face. "But I must confess," he went on, feeling the need to be honest in this, "I am not sure the success of the search will prove as beneficial as we hoped. We sorely need help in order to defeat the enemy. But when the _Lux_ cannot even control the traditional powers, or even _use_ many of them, it seems…"

Murphy scowled. "Ye're sayin' 'e canna even help me any?"

"I am concerned that this _Lux _may still be unaware of many of the usual abilities of the bloodline. I have seen _some _things while on the black ship that cannot be explained any other way, but--"

"Well, who _is_ it, at least?" Murphy interrupted, rather bitterly. Rufus hadn't told him the name of the man they had been looking for months ago, so he couldn't specifically search for him himself. Now, he was being told that even though they'd found the man, and even after all of Murphy's hoping and worrying in the past months, he still might not get the supernatural help he wanted from the fellow.

Lowering the tone of his voice to scarcely above a whisper, though the bar was nearly empty anyway, Rufus answered, "The man we were looking for is dead. Now, the only _Lux _remaining alive is the grand-child and only heir of William… or Bill, I think he was called--"

Rufus was cut off by a curt gesture from Murphy asthe red-haired mansuddenly stood, cocking his head toward the open front door of the building. Rufus heard the voices approaching the door from outside. One of them sounded familiar. It was the voice of one of the men aboard the _Black Pearl_, one of the men that they had just seen accompanying Miss Gwendolyn into an inn just down the street, right before they had ducked into this bar.

Oh! He and Murphy certainly couldn't be caught here, conferring with one another. They were supposed to be strangers.

Murphy was already ahead of him in that realization. With no back exits obvious from the main room, he began towards the backroom that, by the looks of the things, served as a headquarters for the tavern wenches. Before he had gone a step or two, he doubled back andsnatched up his drink, so Rufus wouldn't look so conspicuous with two drinks, and dropped a few coins onto the table. Then he disappeared into the back room. Rufus heard a shriek and a giggle and yet another voice scolding, then a back door slamming somewhere. In the same instant, Ben Blades and his previous companion entered the bar, without Gwen but with a third man in tow, nodding toward the bartender and a lingering server-girl as they took seats.

Close call.

Rufus briefly wondered if he was supposed to try to find Murphy again to continue their discussion, but he decided no. He had responded to the message he'd been sent and had complied with it by coming to meet the man. Best he went back now before he got himself caught in his disobedience to Gaius. It wasn't his fault, after all, that he had been interrupted before he could tell Murphy that Gwen was the one he would need to talk to about getting the help he wanted for himself.

Rufus stood, nodded toward Ben, who noticed him ashe settled the tab with bartender using the coins Murphy had left, and then he headed out of the bar and began making his way back to the docks in the distance.

* * *

"Have another?"

AnaMaria laughed, but asked more seriously, "How many have we had already?"

Jack frowned exaggeratedly. "What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

AnaMaria snorted as she laughed, then both of them laughed because she had snorted. Finally, she caught the breath to respond, "African or European?"

"Whichever can carry coconuts."

"How many coconuts?"

Suddenly very gravely serious, Jack said, "The same number of drinks we've had." He pointed a finger and stabbed the air for emphasis. And missed. He tried again, trying to poke his finger toward AnaMaria to make sure she got his point. He missed again and knocked over his own tankard. At least it was empty. Giving up on that gesture, he tried another, pounding his hand down on the table. He hit his thigh instead, but that seemed like it would be a good gesture to use as well, so he let it go, and then picked up where he left off, "I'll go get me coat."

He realized he was still wearing his coat.

AnaMaria snickered.

"Well, and we haven't had enough rum," Jack said suddenly. "I'll go catch the rumrumm-- runrummer-- rummerrun-- rrr-- let's have some more. Lass!"

"We've had enough," AnaMaria countered, trying to convince herself to get up and leave. She'd actually had two or three less than Jack, if she'd been counting right. Shouldn't have let him convince her to drink with him. True, he wouldn't try to nick her _Gilder_, not since he had his precious _Pearl _back, but she couldn't forget the last time she'd drunk with him, several years ago: when she had finally awoken the next day, she'd discovered that he'd stolen her boat.

And she could tell she'd had too much to drink already, because suddenly even _that_ memory was funny. "Let's go, Jack," she suggested.

"Hmmphsffbl," Jack replied, looking bright-eyed toward the door where the barmaid would come out.

Then he realized he'd been staring at the wrong door. That door was the entrance. He could tell because a few people suddenly _entered_ through it.

"Jack! AnaMaria!" Elizabeth all but flew across the room toward them. Gwen and Will were close behind her.

Jack noticed the serious expressions on all three faces as they approached and he childishly copied them, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes.

"You've got to help us," Elizabeth began as soon as she reached the table. Jack realized suddenly that her eyes were damp and red-rimmed, and he searched inwardly for some part of his mind sober enough to try to rationalize that.

"My baby," Elizabeth went on urgently. "Billy's been kidnapped!"


	13. Understanding and Misunderstanding

Disclaimer: Once upon a time, a writer chose to play with other people's characters, places, and things. And the writer lived poorly ever after.

_**

* * *

A/N: This is an author's note merely to announce that the twelfth chapter will follow this author's note. Thank you.**_

* * *

Chapter 12: Understanding and Misunderstanding

* * *

Murphy ducked out of the back door of the tavern and into the alley. A heavy-set woman-- probably the wife of the owner of the establishment, judging by the flavor of the oaths she was shouting at him-- chased him well outside the building and around a corner with her broom before she finally left him with a _humph! _and a final swat of her broomstick and returned to her own domain.

Murphy shook his red-maned head. Something about women. Seemed they were more territorial than men, most of the time. Violate something a woman considered _hers_ and pay the price. All he'd done was stroll through the back corridors of the place. By the looks of things, there was a small host of harlots that conducted their business in the back rooms.

On second thought, Murphy decided perhaps it wasn't necessarily that he'd simply wandered through the hallway uninvited so much as it was that he'd done so while all the ladies were in various states of unattractive dishevelment, trying to doll themselves up for the night's… well, the night's _work_. With a last scowling look in the general direction of the building, Murphy turned his thoughts to other, more significant matters.

What was it Rufus had been saying before they had been interrupted by the untimely arrival of Ben, Brant, and their friend? Ah, yes… Jack had found the mysterious _Lux_ on his very ship. Grandson and only surviving heir of a William, who went by Bill…

Murphy stopped, dumbstruck. Could he have meant old Bootstrap Bill? Murphy had never really known the man well himself, but he had seen him in Jack's company a few times. Always seemed a bit… _off_ somehow when he did see the man, compared to all the real blackhearts and scallywags he sailed with. But Bootstrap had been a friend of Jack's. Which meant that Jack would more than likely have access to the man's grandson, right? Perhaps even have him aboard his _Black Pearl_...

As he stood in the alley, wondering about his next course of action, his mind alighted on the memory of seeing Brant and Ben not a quarter of an hour earlier, when he and Rufus had ducked into the bar to avoid being seen by them. They hadn't been escorting their young male companion then; they'd had that pregnant wench of Jack's with them. Apparently, they'd traded the wench for the other man when they'd stopped by the inn.

Would Jack send his consort to meet with the precious _Lux_ in private, perhaps in a place as unexpected as the inn Murphy had seen them go into? Well, Jack always had been a conniving, unpredictable schemer. It was worth a shot. If he could find this mystical _Lux_ here, of all places, without having to ferret through his friend's ship to find him…

Murphy set off, walking along the alley at the back of the buildings until he came to the inn, a few buildings down from the bar.

* * *

"Are you hungry?"

Gwen sat down in the chair Elizabeth waved her towards, smiling her gratitude. "I'm always hungry these days," she said with a groan.

Elizabeth laughed, glancing automatically toward the sleeping bundle that was little Billy. "I understand," she replied simply.

Gwen helped herself to the ample remains of the generous meal the Turners had been enjoying, then took a moment to glance around the room as she began eating. The inn's parlor was a relatively small, but well-appointed and well-furnished room toward the rear of the lower floor of the building. The Turners had probably had to pay a bit extra for the privilege of dining alone here rather than with the normal crowd in the forward hall. But, having spent the last few weeks herself eating ship's store, she could certainly appreciate their desire to come ashore and find an inn that could serve them a decent meal, and she could at least understand why they'd want to separate themselves from the mostly Italian-speaking locals.

"You look well," Elizabeth said after a moment.

Gwen smiled slowly. She could tell her friend wasn't really commenting on her health. "We've… talked," she explained lightly.

Elizabeth nodded, relieved. The last she'd seen of the Sparrows… well, of Jack and Gwen (she was ever having to remind herself they weren't wed), they had been swimming in unresolved tension over their newfound pregnancy predicament.

"Speaking of talking… your butler… or Brant, I don't know how to think of him now… He said that you wanted to talk to me about something in particular? What is that is so important it's brought you all the way to Rome?"

"I don't know how to think of him either," Elizabeth said with a laugh. "He keeps surprising me. But don't worry yourself. Nothing so drastic has _brought _us here. We… we had an enlightening experience and decided we weren't quite cut out for sitting around, twiddling our fingers, and being thoroughly predictable and dull. So we came hunting after you, and Jack, and a little excitement. And we've found you, too, so all is well, I suppose."

Gwen grinned as she helped herself to seconds.

"What I wanted to talk to you about was… Hmm. Where to begin…?"

"The beginning?" Gwen suggested logically.

"A very good place to start," Elizabeth said, with a little laugh at herself. "The beginning. Well, Will and Billy and I, with our assembled crew, Brant and all, arrived here three days ago. We've spent part of that time combing the area for Jack or you or any evidence that the _Pearl_ was here, or evidence that it had come and gone. Then we realized we beat you here and have just been waiting."

Gwen nodded absently, acknowledging the droll details before the real explanation. She eyed the untouched slice of pie sitting before Elizabeth with some interest.

Elizabeth pushed the plate toward her across the table and went on. "It's what I've heard while we've been waiting that I wanted to talk to you about.

"We were in the marketplace, only a few streets over from here, just yesterday. There was an older woman at one stall who spoke English rather well compared to most. She was speaking with a British gentleman about 'the graves' when I first saw her. When the man left, I approached and asked her what she had meant.

"She told me there have been several ancient gravesites found recently, tombs and such, looking as though they'd been robbed. And some people think it's odd that so many are being found all at once. The old woman… she seemed to think that it wasn't that people were _finding _them and then trying to get _in _for burial treasures. She claimed the dead were finding their way _out_."

Gwen frowned, but she didn't look as surprised as Elizabeth had been by the woman's assertions. Eyeing her friend curiously, Elizabeth continued, "So I talked to her for a while. She told me some of the old local legends. In one of them, she mentioned a bloodline of… sorcerers, I suppose. The way she described them, she believes they have strange abilities, and she thinks they're related to the grave incidences somehow. And some of what she said… it made me think, for some reason, of that Bill Jacobs. You remember him?"

Gwen froze. She put her fork down, sipped at a glass of water, and turned her full attention now to Elizabeth. "Of course I remember him." How could she _ever_ forget?

"Do you think there could be truth to the old woman's tales, Gwen? She mentioned that these people, this family line, could kill people with a thought if they wanted to. And they could amass fortunes for their patrons… That would explain how, according to Jack's tales at least, Jacobs had so much success all of a sudden, just before he went missing. And it could explain… well, Tom's death. I know it sounds crazy, but I've seen odd things happen before, with that curse when I met first met Jack... Gwen?"

Gwen's expression had sunk into a very deep grimace, as though she were struggling with something.

"Elizabeth," Gwen said then, the word sounding much like a sigh of relief. "There's no reason you shouldn't know. I'll feel better sharing with someone else anyway."

Elizabeth looked surprised, but leaned forward, toward Gwen. "What is it?"

"What the woman was saying, Elizabeth… it could very well be true. I know that sounds mad, but… Do you want to know what really happened on that island?"

Elizabeth took a breath and offered, "Jack told everyone that Jacobs had gone mad and attacked the two of you, and then killed himself."

"That's only half-true," Gwen confessed wearily. "He _was_ mad. Part of him wanted very badly to be a good person, and part of him wanted very badly to hang on to his treasures at all costs. The latter was the man who attacked us. But it was _how_ he did it…"

Gwen looked into Elizabeth's eyes, morbidly wanting her to understand what it felt like, since she and Jack, by tacit agreement, never mentioned their shared near-death experience. "It feels like your blood turns to steel in your veins. The air turns to rock in your lungs. You can't hear or see or feel because the world begins to fade away and become darkness. That's how Tom died, trying to fight it, but it can't be fought."

Elizabeth reached out to lay a comforting hand on Gwen's arm but didn't interrupt her.

"And in one way of seeing it, Jacobs did kill himself, I suppose. But _I_ was the one that did it." Gwen ignored Elizabeth's gasp and plowed on," I shot him, before I could lose the feeling in my hand. I barely knew whether I had managed to pull the trigger or not… I didn't hear it fire, I didn't see him fall. And then, when I… when I came to, he was dead." Gwen paused a moment, but then she hurriedly changed the subject, going back to a previous detail, "Jacobs _did_ have strange abilities. From what we've learned since then it seems he didn't fully realize it all until he was actually _told_ that he _could _do these things. After that, he managed to amass a great wealth for himself and his men. But then, he grew jealous of his own crew over his treasures and killed them all, in the same way Tom was killed, and the same way he tried to kill Jack and me. But afterward he felt very guilty, and exiled himself with his treasure so he couldn'tcommit any such crime ever again. I guess what he had done to his crew ate at him all those years alone and drove him mad. I…" She trailed off, anxiously chewing at her lower lip.

Elizabeth blew out her breath, shaking her head in astonishment when Gwen didn't finish her sentence. "So all that… Is that why Jack wanted to come here, something about those legends, and graves and all? Something about Jacobs?"

"Yes… and no." Gwen took a steadying breath. "There's one more thing you don't know about Jacobs. He was… my grandfather."

As though on a cue for a convenient distraction, Billy suddenly awoke and began fussing, making all the warning sounds a polite infant will make before unleashing his full battery of wailing and crying. Elizabeth sprang to her feet to collect the baby from the soft couch where he'd been put down to sleep near the fire. As she soothed him, she turned back to Gwen, brows furrowed. "Your grandfather?" she repeated.

Gwen explained in a rush, "My mother was born in the Caribbean somewhere. Her mother, my grandmother, took her to England alone to raise her there. She taught my mother to read and did her best to provide well for her. When my grandmother died, my mother was very lucky, almost unbelievably lucky, to wed a very wealthy man, my father. Almost like there was something more than just dumb luck at work…" Gwen frowned, for the first time really considering that. If this truly was purely hereditary, then her mother would have had the same abilities as Jacobs. Perhaps her mother had unwittingly used her _Lux _charm to lure such a promising husband?

She pushed those thoughts aside to consider later, and went on, "My grandmother's name… was Rosemary." She took a deep breath, then began from her grandfather's side of the story. "In Jacobs' cabin on that island, I found evidence that he corresponded with a favorite whore of his, whom he was teaching to read in exchange for her... services. One who entertained notions of returning to England someday, to become a lady. He called her Rose." Gwen hesitated, then added, "He even mistook _me_ for _her_ on the island, when his madness was on him. I have no doubt that he really was my own grandfather."

Elizabeth didn't say anything for a long moment. "That complicates things a bit," she finally said, smiling hesitantly and uncertainly.

Gwen was relieved atElizabeth's attempts to make light of the weighty information she'd just shared. She reached for her water glass, downing half of it. Sighing appreciatively at the feeling of sharing a burden with a friend, she leaned back in her chair. She hadn't really realized that it _was_ such a burden.

But that was probably true, at least in part, because Jack wasn't much of one for talking about serious matters seriously. Anytime she idly asked about his old gunshot scars or the terrible scars weaving across his left forearm, or about the slashes across his back, he usually joked and spun half-true tales of his adventures gone awry. He treated his close brush in that cave with Gwen as nothing more than an anecdote, too, for use when his usual bar-tales didn't win him enough attention. Normally, this was just fine with Gwen (especially since he _could _weave a very intriguing tale), but every now and then, like now, it didn't seem at all funny or ironic to her.

"Gwen?"

Gwen looked up, a bit startled. Oh. Lost in thoughts again. Elizabeth was smirking at her.

"Sorry," she said, heaving another settling sigh. "Sometimes I wonder how I manage without you around."

Elizabeth grinned. "Speaking of managing," she said, walking back to where Gwen was seated, "would you like to hold him now?"

Gwen looked at the little bundle in her friend's arms and started to make some protest, but before she could argue, the child had been deposited in her arms and Elizabeth had stepped back, smiling bemusedly at her. Gwen looked up at her helplessly as Billy began to fuss at being passed about.

Elizabeth didn't offer any words of advice on what to do with him, but said, "You'll have your own to care for soon, you know."

Gwen didn't say anything. She tried not to think about the end of her pregnancy, neither the labor nor the babe. She wasn't especially looking forward to either of those issues. But as the Turner baby started to cry, in a thin, petulant wail that gradually grew stronger, Gwen slowly got to her feet and began to pace with him, as Elizabeth had been doing.

Elizabeth watched her for a moment, then, turning her mind back to their conversation, meditatively said, "So there's truth to an old woman's fairy tales."

* * *

Murphy crept up the hallway, listening carefully for the sounds of people walking or talking. He came to an open door just up the hallway from the back door he'd let himself in. After listening carefully, he realized that the conversation inside was nothing more than the kitchen-idling gossip of a woman and her daughter, probably members of the owning family. He managed to sneak by without catching their attention.

At the next door up, which was cracked halfway open, he paused again to listen, and prepared to creep pastthis one as wellwhen the words he caught halted him.

"There certainly _seems_ to be more than just fable to it," came a vaguely familiar female voice. "Besides all of that, well… there have been _things _happening on the _Pearl _that I can't explain away. Shh, Billy. What am I doing wrong?"

Someone from the _Black Pearl_! Murphy heard footsteps, then another woman's voice, "Put your arm there. There you are." There was a sigh, then, "He looks so much like his father already…"

There was a pause, presumably because they were looking at the baby. Murphy scowled, toying with beard as he leaned against the wall outside the doorway. Billy? Named for his grandfather, no doubt.

So the heir was nothing but a child.

Still… they claimed there were strange things going on aboard the Pearl. Perhaps the babe already had some abilities? He must be very powerful indeed. Perhaps powerful enough for Murphy's purposes, even if the infant was far too young to know it himself.

Edging nearer to the door, he listened carefully for a few seconds more, to determine the exact positions of the occupants of the room. All he would have to do is dash in, grab the child, and flee the way he had come, out the back door. He could be back at his ship in a trice. If he was lucky, Jack and Anamaria would still be in the bar where he'd left them, and without them to question him, he wouldn't have to explain to their crews why he was leaving the trio so suddenly.

"Here," came the voice of Jack's wench.

Judging by the fussing of the babe and the soothing sounds made by the other woman, the child was being passed back again. Perfect opportunity.

* * *

Gwen's reflexes took control before she had time to think about it. Just as she was handing Elizabeth her son back, a great red-haired man darted through the door, straight toward where they stood in the middle of the room. Gwen had her sword out from its specially concealed place in the folds of her skirt before she even had time to actually decide to do so.

She exchanged surprised looks with the attacker. He seemed surprised by the fact that a woman had drawn on him, and that she had done so with such alacrity. For her own part, Gwen found herself struck speechless as she realized that this was Jack's friend, the large red man called Murphy, who had traveled with them across the Atlantic in his red ship.

He hesitated, as though uncertain about whether to draw his own sword or not. He took a half-step toward Elizabeth and her child, and Gwen moved to strike. At that, he had his own sword out in self-defense in a fraction of a second.

Gwen had never actually fought a real opponent. Still under Jack's tutelage (or at least she _had_ been until he refused to spar with her anymore while she was pregnant), her only opponents to date had been shipmates who had no intention of doing her any harm and whose only motive was to help her learn and practice. Despite her protests, she'd never been allowed to board a merchant ship until the other pirates had resistance under control. But if her lack of true experience with the blade or if the awkwardness caused by her stomach were disadvantages, her motive was enough to overcome them. With a real opponent came a real _purpose _to guide her sword.

The metallic clash of blade on blade rang out, and Gwen was certain that the sounds would soon bring some of the inn's other occupants to investigate. But the seconds stretched longer and longer as she labored to keep up her defense.

Jack always made it seem so effortless, while she still found herself analyzing moves one by one, trying to remember the correct parry and execute it properly even with the hindrance of her belly. But for all that effort just to keep her defense alive, she still managed to spot every opportunity of striking back.

Compared to all of the energy she put into warding off Murphy, the man seemed almost bored, and it was clear he didn't want to fight her at all. But neither could just stop. Gwen had no way of being sure he would abandon whatever he had been about to do (it looked to her as though he had been going after Elizabeth's baby, oddly enough), and _he_ had no way of knowing that she wouldn't slash at him if he were to break defenses and bolt for the door.

Gwen blocked a high thrust, following through with a tight arc, pushing his blade out. The move didn't fool Murphy, and he wasn't about to leave his middle unprotected with his sword out at his side. With a smooth, cool motion, he flicked his sword back and up again, deflected another strike from Gwen's blade, then lunged forward, with his sword at an angle, protecting his entire torso.

Gwen hesitated as she recognized the move. The one Jack had drilled her on over again and again. But that had been at least a month or so ago, and she'd not quite mastered it even then. The second's pause was far too much. She brought her blade up to ward off the blow, but just a hair too late. It struck too high on Gwen's blade, and her sword faltered.

She didn't drop it, but before she could resettle her grasp on the hilt and raise it again, Murphy had seen his chance and dashed at Elizabeth. Elizabeth was by no means one to give up without a fight, but the much bigger man wrested her baby from her easily enough. And then, in a single wink, he was gone. And right behind him went Elizabeth.

What had seemed like several long minutes had in fact only been a few short seconds. The sounds of belated saviors preceded a trio of men and a plump, wide-eyed woman into the room. Gwen hastily sheathed and hid her sword again, not wanting to be more a spectacle than she already was. But she didn't pay any attention at all to the questions being posed by the interlopers. She hurried out into the hallway.

There were a handful more people lining up in the hall to her right, so she guessed at where Murphy and Elizabeth had gone and veered to her left, calling loudly as she went, "Do something." Do anything but stand there, for heaven's sake, really.

But just as Gwen stepped out the back door, Elizabeth came running back, wiping her eyes but clearly trying to keep a handle on her wits. "I lost him, around a corner, he was just gone and I couldn't... Will," she stammered to Gwen, under her breath. "We have to go find Will."

The two women began to push past the bewildered group of people without saying a word to them. As Gwen stepped into the fading sunlight out front of the building, painfully aware of how tightly Elizabeth was clutching her arm, she glanced about quickly for the nearest pub. She spotted one just up the street and assumed it was as good a place as any to begin searching for the misplaced men.

As they hurried toward it, as quickly as Elizabeth could pull Gwen's cumbersome body after her, Gwen's thoughts flitted back to the great red man. Why on earth would he want _Elizabeth_'s baby? And for heaven's sake, she knew better than anyone what a villain and scoundrel Jack could be, but even so, he wasn't vicious. Somehow she had just assumed that any of his good friends must be of similar mettle. Apparently, she'd been wrong.

Where on earth _was_ Jack anyway? If he was still in that bar while _his_ friend was running around, kidnapping babies and then disappearing with him...


	14. They Take It Away From Ye

Disclaimer: I know an old lady who swallowed a disclaimer. I don't know why she swallowed a disclaimer. I guess she'll die. But at least she won't have any lawsuits brought against her for borrowing other people's characters.

* * *

Chapter 14: They Take It Away From Ye

* * *

Jack looked blearily from Elizabeth to Will to Gwen to AnaMaria and back. He decided he might try to get his feet under him again and reached for the table to steady himself as tried to stand.

"Jack Sparrow-"

"Gwen…" Jack interrupted, mimicking her scolding tone. "Gwen, uh… Gwendolyn." He pulled himself out of his chair, wavered, and then squinted at Elizabeth. "What're ye doin' _here_?"

Gwen latched onto his arm, dug a few coins out of _his_ pocket and tossed them on the table for his drinks, and began tugging him toward the door before Elizabeth could respond to his slurred question. "They were looking for us," she explained as she dragged him along, speaking in low tones so only he could hear her, "but that damned friend of yours found _them _first." Then, turning to see how the Turners were managing with AnaMaria, she called more loudly, "All right, AnaMaria? Honestly, Jack, it's not even dark yet and with everything that's going on… Sometimes I wonder about you."

As she spoke she escorted him outside and hurried him off in the direction of the docks, not seeming to be very forgiving when he stumbled. AnaMaria followed close behind with the Turners. Will was eyeing her warily as she walked along beside them. Clearly, she'd had more sense than Jack (for what it was worth) by trying to limit her alcohol intake, but she still wobbled a bit too much to be able to pass as sober.

"Where're we goin', luv?"

Gwen grunted as he tripped on his own feet and leaned heavily against her while he tried to right himself and still keep up with her swift pace. "Murphy," she began, "has already left port-"

"Mufree? What's 'e-"

"--with Elizabeth's baby," Gwen went on, ignoring him. "Brant and Ben went to go see if he could head him off at the docks, but Murphy was already gone. And you've got some explaining to do." Speaking under her breath so her crude language wouldn't carry back to the Turners hurrying along behind them, she went on, "And you'd better know where to find the bastard, or I'll turn you into a soprano and let Elizabeth stew what's left over and spoon-feed it to you."

Jack looked at her in horror, trying to fathom what on earth he had done wrong to merit such a threat. (It _was_ just a threat, right?) While he was distracted, he narrowly avoided running into an invisible obstacle, but ended up stumbling over another invisible obstacle a bit further on.

"Muh-free…" he tried again.

Gwen walked still faster as she turned him around a corner. They were coming in sight of the docks now. "You brought him into this, Jack, and he's gone after a _child_. You'd better be able to tell me what's going on. I'm not looking forward to explaining to Will and Elizabethexactly howwe _know_ the man who just ran off with their infant. I at least want to be able to tell them _why _he did this."

Jack's eyes automatically flicked to the _Pearl_ as soon as the ship's mainmast was in sight over the buildings. He stared wordlessly at it as they drew closer and closer to the docks. Then he thought perhaps he might tell Gwen, point out to her, that he hadn't quite expected things to work out this way, and that perhaps it was the Turners' fault for showing up when he hadn't planned for them, and also that it wasn't quite fair to blame him for someone else's crimes anyway, since he usually had more than a fair share of crimes all his own to deal with. He opened his mouth to tell her all this, but couldn't quite find the right words. "I want ye to have a bite of me pork," he said slowly.

"We'll have that talk when you've sobered up," Gwen said in the dry tone of one used to dealing with this sort of thing.

* * *

When Jack awoke, it was dark. Very dark. Past midnight, he guessed. He sat up carefully, testing his body carefully beforeputtinghimself to the strain of leaping to his feet.

After a few moments, he cleared himself for duty. A little worse for wear, and he needed to relieve himself, but no real hangover to speak of, thank heavens. He shuffled out of bed. Gwen hadn't bothered to undress him when she put him in bed, he saw, so all he had to do was pull on his boots.

Gwen. Where was she?

He found her just moments later, as he exited the cabin. She saw him emerge into the wane light of the few lanterns on deck assisted by a partial moon. She came down to meet him.

"We've lost him," she said. "Do you have any idea where he would be going?"

Jack just stared. Finally, he felt his pockets, searching for-- "Me compass," he said, presenting it to her.

A curious expression crossed her face as she took it from him.

"If Murphy's what ye're wantin' to find, it'll take ye to 'im," he said in such a logical way that it was clear he was surprised she hadn't thought of using it to navigate before. Probably, while he'd been sleeping off his rum, they'd just been using the ordinary compass Jack knew Gibbs kept hidden away to check their course from time to time.

Gwen bit her lip, frowning at herself for not thinking of it, but held the compass as though it had suddenly changed into something stranger than she had ever imagined. Jack waved her off, and she went up to the helm with it to set the course herself while he hurried off-- to put it delicately-- to take a leak.

Gwen thought about the compass as she returned to the helm. _'Sometimes it guides us, and sometimes it helps us to guide ourselves.'_ That was what Rufus had been repeating about the Romans' compass for the past few weeks. Jack's compass was obviously of the same make, though she wasn't sure she want to admit the connection.

She sighed. The Romans. They had been left behind, because neither Rufus nor Gaius had been present when Gwen and Jack and the Turners had bustled back onto the _Black Pearl_, ready to dash after Murphy and little Billy. AnaMaria had stayed behind to keep an eye out for the Romans while they left immediately to locate the kidnapped child. Elizabeth and Will, rather than troubling with their own smaller ship, had boarded the _Pearl_, along with Brant. The weary, fretful parents had finally gone to bed not more than half an hour earlier.

Once the night watch had tacked the sails back to compensate for the new angle of the wind with their changed course, and assured Gwen that they'd notify the captain immediately if they spotted so much as a flea on the horizon, Gwen finally left the poop deck. It was no good telling the solicitous men that she wasn't tired at all, but they'd been begging her for hours now-- though they thought they were being rather subtle about it-- to leave matters to them for the time being and go to bed.

Of course, she still wasn't going to bed yet. She intercepted Jack as he returned, refreshed, and ushered him straight back into their quarters.

"Talk," she said simply, pulling out his chair and jerking her finger down at it. Jack didn't like the idea of being issued orders, and so he simply stood, unmoving, refusing to take a seat. After a moment he suddenly seemed to decide that he would like to sit down, entirely of his own accord, and he settled himself comfortably. But when Jack still didn't say anything,Gwen said, "_I'm _not going to betray you, Jack, for heaven's sake; you can at least trust me. Just start with everything you know about Murphy. Besides the fact that you used to be shipmates," she added.

Jack hesitated. He thought perhaps he should be uneasy about the fact that Gwen had so casually diagnosed the reason for his reluctance to share too much of what he knew with anyone. But somehow, it seemed natural that Gwen would see right through his reasons for keeping tight lips on details.

Gwen's stern look told him he was taking too long considering. "I've never _slapped_ you, Jack," she said pointedly after a moment. "Stop being so damned secretive and tell me something, for once in your life."

Jack's eyes narrowed at her, studying her to see if she was serious about the veiled threat she had just made. True, she'd never _slapped_ him… when he slipped up and got her too angry with him, she had a wearisome tendency to launch more efficient attacks than just a light smack across the face. Jack didn't really think she would put him through such misery just because he wasn't sharing information with her, but he shifted in his chair and clasped his hands strategically over his lap nonetheless.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Jack could practically _feel_ Gwen seething at him. For Gwen's part, if he only knew, however, she was desperately hoping that he would finally take the leap of confiding in her-- and also hoping that she hadn't overstepped her bounds in the casual and playful relations they usually shared.

"We, uh…" Jack fidgeted, raising a hand to rub his nose, scratch his jaw, and tug at his braided beard while he spoke. He didn't notice the look of relief on Gwen's face or the way she perched on the edge of her own chair to listen attentively; his eyes were fixed pointedly on the corner of his desk.

"AnaMaria picked up Murphy in Tortuga. We, uh… thought we might need some help, dealing with the, er… Romans and all, but Murphy's the only one she could turn up fast enough.

"He--" Jack cleared his throat-- "Murphy was always obsessed with legends. Ye probably noticed by now pirates know just about every legend that's ever been told. Well, he was always… _fascinated_ in particular by these _Lux_ tales, thought there was something more to 'em. Ye see what he's named his ship, the _Lux Fortunaque Mundi_. That's why he agreed to come, I know, because he was hoping to find the _Lux_. There--"

"How is it," Gwen interrupted, "that you and Murphy and AnaMaria all thought so much about these Roman ships? You had us chasing after them before you ever mentioned the word _Lux_," Gwen reasoned.

Jack frowned. "I might've entertained the idea, but I never really thought it was _you_," he explained upfront, "but I knew that, if the tales were at all true, there would be a _Lux_ involved. It's the way the legends go." Jack's voice took on the distinctive timbre that he automatically assumed for spinning yarns, and he seemed to relax a bit more as well as heassumed the role of storyteller.

"There are historic records of Roman ships that got lost in storms. Bits of the Roman fleet, sometimes a dozen or so at once,sometimes even more. Not the best shipbuilders, were the Romans. But the way the legends tell it, they weren't all taken by storm. The _legends_, unlike the records,suggested that a lot of the storms, and supposed wrecks, were staged, unnatural.

"Supposedly, a _Lux_ of the time would bring up winds and storms to separate ships from the rest of their squadrons. Then he cursed 'em, or blessed 'em, or put a spell on 'em, or something. Something to the tune of the ships and sailors serving the _Lux_ for all time, or... somethin' like that. Supposedly, the _Lux_'s plans to take over the Empire were found out by the Senate. The _Lux_ was quietly assassinated, and many of the cursed sailors eventually returned home and lived out their lives on Roman soil and were buried, like any other men.

"Reason it's more legend than history is that the sailors couldn't ever _prove_-" he gestured dramatically--"that they had sailed on the ships that had gone missing… because the ships themselves were as cursed as they were, they would come and go, here one moment, but invisible in the very next.

"They couldn't prove to the army who they were, and their families, for the most part, didn't listen to their tales. It was terrible bad luck to speak ill of the _Lux_, and the general public didn't know of the assassination, so the sailors' crazy stories were largely ignored, out of fear if nothing else. Which is another reason why the legends aren't so well known themselves."

Gwen didn't say anything when Jack paused to collect his thoughts.

"Obviously, with a legend like that, people who like to tell it, people like Murphy, believe that someday another _Lux_ will come back and call up the cursed sailors and try to build his own Empire. That's why AnaMaria and I were a bit… concerned. Just a bit."

"That still doesn't quite explain why Murphy kidnaps our friend's baby and then flees Rome for the open seas."

"Unless…" Jack began pensively. "Well, Gaius is… well, there's him," he said, sounding as though he were cutting himself off. But he continued easily enough, "Then there's Rufus, who sincerely wants nothing more than to use the _L_-- to use _you_ to defeat this 'enemy' of Rome, whom he's never actually mentioned by name. I'm not convinced Rufus really knows what's going on. And Murphy probably wouldn't mind ruling a chunk of the old Roman Empire himself, which the _Lux_ would naturally help him win. He always wanted to be a governor, some weird fantasy of his.

"Now, I know Murphy went to meet someone in Rome-- leaving me 'n' AnaMaria like that, he _had_ to 'ave been meeting someone. Let's say it was one of our Romans, doesn't matter which. Say they're having a conversation about your grandfather. No one else knows about the connection, or the truth, with you and him but those two. Say Murphy just heard about 'Bill' and thought 'Bootstrap Bill,' and then went for _his _heir," he suggested with a doubtful look on his face.

"Those are a lot of _if's_, Jack," Gwen said. "Too many things that don't add up. Especially how he knew where to find Billy Turner when even _you_ didn'tknow the Turners had come looking for us yet.Or how he overlooked Will Turner, the obviously more useful, _grown_ heir of Bootstrap Bill."

"He's lucky?" he suggested. "Which reminds me, why _are_ the Turners here?"

"Something about being boring and predictable wasn't working so well."

"Ah... Well, no matter how it happened, we've got Romans wanting to use ye to take over the world, and we've got Murphy wanting to use ye, only he doesn't know it's _you_ he wants yet, to take over the world. The Turners wanted to go along for another ride, but they have terrible timing and even worse luck. Does that about cover it?"

"No," Gwen said, suddenly and sharply. "What _is _Murphy up to?" she asked, as though speaking to herself.

"What are ye talking about?"

"Look, if it's true that Murphy _did_ talk to the Romans, then he probably knows what they told you and me-- that the entirety of the rest of the Roman fleet will be arriving in Rome in a matter of days. If Murphy really wanted to use me, or the _Lux_, to control the fleet… then why are we chasing him _away_ from Rome?"

Jack paused to think about this. "Unless he's just leading us on a wild goose chase to get us out of the way," he suggested, but that didn't quite seem the kind of the thing Murphy would do. The Murphy he knew would prefer to be in on the action, rather than serving as a sidelined decoy. He frowned. Glancing up, he finally met Gwen's eyes for the first time since he had begun talking.

From the look in her eyes, he almost expected her to point out that she had given him insight into Murphy's motives, had pointed out that he must have some other motive than Jack had thought. He almost expected her to gloat andsuggest that he should have turned to her as a confidante long ago. But she didn't say anything at all for a very long moment.

Finally, she moved to stand up. "So it's just a misunderstanding. Do you think the child is in any danger with Murphy until we can get to him?"

Jack shrugged. "He wouldn't _intentionally_ do anything to it, I don't think."

Gwen sighed. "But we'll probably end up having to explain the whole misunderstanding to him when we show up to take Billy back." She bit her lip. "I wonder if we could offer to trade information. You know, we could tell him we know who the _Lux_ really is, if he can tell us what _he_ wants from me… or, from the _Lux_. Actually… if he's been talking to Rufus or Gaius, he might be able to tell us something about _them_ and what _they're_ really up to."

"Ye're going to tell him about yourself in exchange for information… information from someone who's spent most of his life in legends and fairy tales?" Jack asked, watching her pace back and forth as she thought.

"Fairies don't enter into it," she said flatly. "Do you think _I'm_ a legend, Jack?" she asked suddenly then, her tone very serious. "Do you believe all of this that everyone keeps saying about _Lux _this and _Lux _that?"

Jack didn't answer asthe seconds ticked by. When he finally spoke, he didn't answer her question at all. "Don't tell Murphy, Gwen. I didn't tell him about ye, and I won't. I don't want _you_ to, either."

Gwen stared at him in surprise at the odd request. "Do you think he's dangerous?"

"No," Jack answered slowly, "it's… when ye tell somebody about somethin' important, they take it away from ye."

"Jack, even if I _could_ do half the things everyone wants me to be able to do, no one could just _take_ those abilities away from me," she reasoned, frowning at his odd plea. "But maybe… if I _could_ do whatever they all want, they would be content." Gwen paused, then said in a rush, as though she'd been wanting to say it for a while, "I'm tired of legends, Jack. I don't want to be a legend. I'm sick of it. Whatever it takes to get Billy back to the Turners, settle Murphy, and settle the Romans, I'll do it. Anything that will make them all leave me alone. If I have to tell them I'm the Queen of England, and--count to forty-two backward! Can't you just _try_ to be compassionate for once, just _act_ like you care about me, about what I want?"

Jack stared. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Gwen swallowed. She'd crossed the line, she knew. The invisible line that they both avoided. _Caring_. It wasn't discussed. It wasn't even alluded to. They were partners of sorts; an intimate type of friend, perhaps. Whatever they were, though, it wasn't to be spoken of. It just wasn't. They were pirates, and pirates don't waste their time caring too deeply about anything other than just enjoying sailing, partying, drinking, and having fun. Anything else a pirate cared about wasn't important.

Jack clenched his jaw. "I forbid you," he finally ground out, "to tell Murphy _anything_ about the _Lux_. You will act like ye don't even know what it is if ye're ever around him. _I_ will get the Turner's whelp back."

Gwen's face flushed with anger. "Don't you give me orders in that tone of voice, Jack Sparrow! I'm not your... your bloody wife to command as you see fit."

"I'm your _captain_," he spat back, "and ye'll do as I say."

"Well, maybe I don't want you to _be_ my captain then. Maybe I'll go sail with the Turners when we get back to their ship in Rome. _They _will understand."

"_You _don't understand," Jack growled, rising from his chair.

"Understand what, _Captain_?"

Sounding as though it were something urgently important, he repeated, "When ye tell somebody about somethin' important, they take it--"

"This isn't something they can take away from me. Good God, Jack. Just because _you _messed up a long time ago, telling the wrong people about your precious Aztec treasure, you think people can just go around stealing _anything_. Well, they've _already_ taken my peace of mind, and I haven't said a word. _You're _the one who told the damned Romans I was the one they wanted, and I'll tell whoever the hell I want, anything I want to tell them. I don't care what they want me to do, I just want my bloody life back."

If that sudden outburst wasn't enough to get Jack's attention, the door slamming behind her as she fled his quarters was.

He picked up the nearest object-- a glass of water, which she'd apparently had waiting on him for when he awoke-- and threw it at the door, spraying the room with water and shards of glass. Swearing under his breath, he glanced around the room. There were the shelves where he had once kept his collection of "false colors," his flags from various countries, which the _Pearl_ could fly at a whim. Gwen's spare clothes were now delegated to that shelf, folded neatly; the flags had been relocated to his trunk. The trunk which she'd cleaned out and organized for him. He glanced at the bed, disorderly from where he'd only just gotten out of it, but with clean linens and the blankets that she insisted on airing out from time to time. On his desk, his hat rested where she had respectfully lain it.

Jack sighed heavily. Damn.


	15. High Seas

Disclaimer: Ever hear of a fan fiction writer getting rich quick? Me neither.

* * *

Chapter 15: High Seas

* * *

"Ship sighted! Ship ahead!"

As Elizabeth snatched up her dressing gown, she asked her husband, "Do you think it's him, the kidnapper? Do you think Billy's all right?"

"I hope so," Will said after a moment of wondering what exactly she expected him to say to pointless questions like those. Rather than comment further though, he simply offered his hand to her, and together the two rushed out into the hallway.

The narrow corridor was choked with a dozen or so people. Several crewmen were already out of bed, tugging on shirts and yawning while they speculated on whether this was the ship they had gone after or if it perhaps was a possible victim for their piracy. On the far end of the passageway, the sailor who had come through moments earlier with his message about the spotted ship wasreturning up the stairs. Everyone else in the hallway was making his way toward the stairs as well, to see about the ship for themselves, all hoping that their swords might be needed and their pockets might be filled. Will and Elizabeth noticed Brant among those pushing toward the stairs, and then they were surprised to see--

"Gwen?"

"Elizabeth, Will," Gwen acknowledged. She smiled warmly enough at them, but her voice sounded tense and her eyes didn't focus on them. She looked like she might have been trying to sleep, judging by her slightly rumpled appearance, but she looked far too weary to have gotten much rest. "This ship might be the man who has Billy," Gwen said unnecessarily, for lack of anything else to say.

Elizabeth moved closer to Gwen as they followed the other sailors down the corridor. She couldn't help but wonder why she was down here where all the other pirates slept, when Gwen had never had, to the best of Elizabeth's knowledge anyway, any reason or inclination to ever spend much time there. "What's wrong?" she asked Gwen in a low tone, so their conversation wouldn't carry over the mumbles of the men.

"Shouldn't be anything wrong, as far as I know. The _Pearl_ always wakes up in the middle of the night for a ship, nothing odd there," she answered blankly and automatically. "But then, it might _not_ be M-- the ship we're after, though. If it's not, you and Will may want to come back down-- you wouldn't want to participate in the looting, I guess," she added absently.

"Who said anything about the ship? I meant, is something wrong with _you_? You look like someone just _took _your loot from you."

Those words stung Gwen. She didn't answer for a long moment. Perhaps that was it. She had mistakenly let slip that she might want or expect something from Jack that he wasn't willing to give. And he'd thrown it back in her face and stolen any unspoken hope she might have entertained that she was more than just a good time for him.

"When you tell someone about something important, they take it away from you," she said bitterly as they reached the stairs. Not feeling at all talkative, and especially not willing to explain that statement, she headed up the middle of the narrow flight of steps, leaving no room for anyone to walk beside her, and Elizabeth fell back a few steps to walk with Will again.

When they arrived on deck, they saw that night was nearly over. The sky was misty and silvery and was beginning to turn a pale shade of purple in the east in preparation for sunrise. And to the southeast, they could see the toy-ship silhouette on the horizon. Jack was already at the helm, one hand loosely clutching a spyglass at his side, the other hand scratching at his jaw as he stared at the shadowy ship. Finally, after a long pause during which he didn't seem to move at all, he issued his initial commands.

"Ready the guns," he shouted down as he searched the dimly-lit faces of those assembling on the deck below him. When he spotted the Turners, he called, "Will Turner!"

While some of Jack's crew scampered to carry out his orders, Will headed up to see what it was Jack wanted. Elizabeth went with him, and Brant trailed quietly along behind as well.

Jack scowled at Will and pointed brusquely at the steadily approaching ship. "I can only assume they're coming after _you_. What did ye do?" he growled.

"Who? Is it Billy's kidnapper?" Will asked hopefully and anxiously.

"No," Jack said. "I know _his_ ship, and that's not it." Before either Will or Elizabeth could ask _how_ he knew the kidnapper's ship, Jack grabbed Will by the shoulders and forcibly turned the younger man to look out at the ship. "Does _that _ship look at all familiar to _you_?"

Will squinted at it, ignoring Jack's mumbles of "this is just what we need now."

"Now that you mention it," Will said, "I suppose it might. But ships kind of look the same, don't they?"

Jack happened to have an abundance of anger this morning, and he was a mere inch from taking some of it out on Will's slip, since no two ships are _ever_ "the same." But then he caught the suspicious look Elizabeth was giving him, and saw her glance out at the assembled crew on the deck below. She waslooking toward Gwen. Remembering himself somewhat, lest he give Elizabeth cause to start meddling in his affairs, he exhaled and pointed again, unnecessarily, at the ship. "It's Commodore bloody Norrington and his dinghy, the _Dauntless_. What did ye do to drag 'im out of Port Royal and halfway across the world?"

Elizabeth cut in before Will could respond. "_You're_ the pirate, Jack. Why would he be here because of something _we've_ done?"

In what might have sounded like an excess of arrogance, Jack said, "First, Norrington knows better than to waste his time chasing after me unless I'm in the neighborhood. He knows it's not worth the effort." It was true. Norrington was always eager to pounce if he ever spotted the _Black Pearl_ in his patrol area, but he wasn't willing to waste his forces on trying to achieve the equivalent of "catching water with a sieve."

Will spoke up then, speaking not to Jack but to Elizabeth as he explained, "The ship that I, er… rented. Well, in fact, Brant and I were having a bit of difficulty finding a ship that could handle the journey that the owner was willing to rent or sell to us. So we… borrowed one."

"Borrowed?" Elizabeth repeated, pinning Will with a fierce stare.

"Stole. Commandeered," he amended, shooting a quick, sly smile towards Jack.

Jack cut in before Elizabeth could think of something to say to Will at this. "Reason number two Norrington can't be here after me: he shouldn't have any idea where to find me," he went on, all but ignoring Will's confession of ship-theft. "How does he know where to find _you_?"

"He… followed us?" Of course, since the Turners had passed through this area several _days_ earlier on their way to Rome, it didn't seem very likely that Norrington could be that far behind them and still be merely tracking them.

It was Brant who spoke up then. Brant, who had been lurking silently to one side. "It's probably me that he's after." He cleared his throat. "Norrington's had his eye on me for a while." The Turners stared. "I used to run a small rum cartel. I, er… left the business, and settled in Port Royal a few years ago. Norrington knew I had been in the trade, but he didn't have any proof and couldn't do anything. He just warned me regularly to keep my nose clean."

Jack glared. "Is there a point to this heartwarming tale anytime soon?" he asked. Oddly enough, he was somewhat irritable after a failed attempt to sleep in a bed with bits of broken glass in it in place of his usual bedmate, and with a naval ship bearing down on them by the minute.

"Well, I thought perhaps the two of you didn't quite think of what you were doing," Brant went on quickly, speaking to the Turners. "Especially after the commodore had just visited you, Miss Elizabeth; I assumed he was warning you about keeping pirate friends. I knew how it would look to him, so I might have… left a little note, so your reputation wouldn't be damaged. In-- in case you changed your mind and wanted to return home."

"A note?" Elizabeth asked, feeling both touched and confused that the man had tried to give Will and herself a chance to change their minds about their decision to go to sea.

"Let's just say Norrington doesn't think _you_ stole a ship and ran off to join pirates. He, er… probably thinks you've been kidnapped by your old butler and that you need rescuing."

"Did ye mention in your 'little note' _where_ ye were taking your 'hostages?'" Jack growled.

"No."

There was a deadly silence.

"I… might have mentioned to Ada that I was going to Rome."

"Ada? Our cook?" Elizabeth's mouth fell open. "And then when Norrington came looking, she told him where you were going, no doubt."

Will was still staring. "You… Ada…"

"We had a nice thing. She had good legs," Brant shrugged.

Jack ignored the looks on the Turners' faces at the revelation of the affair that had been going on in their house. "Get below decks," Jack commanded. "If Norrington sees ye, he'll try to '_rescue_' ye. And ye need to stay _here_ if you want your kid back. You--" he pointed his finger right between Brant's eyes. "--will stay above." He didn't give them time to argue or ask questions, but turned away from them.

The _Dauntless_, he could tell in the dim predawn glow, was bristling with artillery once again, and bustling with activity. So Norrington did indeed recognize the _Pearl_. And probably, he wouldn't be in very charitable spirits at his having to restore the _Dauntless_' weapons array after Jack's little ship-raiding sortie not so long ago.

Wonderful. Jack permitted himself another scowl at Brant's idiocy in giving away his plans to a serving girl. Just because a man slept with a woman, he didn't have to go and tell her everything.

Jack hesitated, overwhelmed with a new perspective. He almost forgave Brant his _faux pas_ as he was suddenly convicted of the fact that he himself had just gone and done the same, telling all he knew on an important subject to the woman who shared his bed. Angry now not only at Brant, but also angry at Gwen again, and angry at himself, he ordered loudly for warning blasts to be fired toward the _Dauntless_. Belatedly, he also had his men run the Jolly Roger up the line as an alert to the naval vessel that he would certainly not comply with anything they wanted of him. And just to taunt Norrington,Jack even had Gibbs retrieve a handful of various flags from the trunk in his cabin. These went up in a haphazard array below the familiar skull-and-swords, some upside down, an uncaring insult to the states they represented. Norrington loved adding to Jack's list of crimes, in hopes of one day seeing to it that the pirate paid for them all, so why not give him a few more petty counts of sailing under false colors to mark against him?

"Run out the sweeps!" Nearly the entire crew had turned up by now. Some were below on the gun deck, manning the cannons. At the last command, several more hurried below to man the oars. Other men scurried to furl the mizzen sails. Rowing wasn't a very efficient way to travel in a ship the size of the _Black Pearl_. But it was a great asset in times like these; they would be able to maneuver more nimbly than the _Dauntless. _

During all of this, Gwen merely kept out of the way. She'd avoided meeting Elizabeth's eyes as she and Will had dutifully returned below decks, and she was carefully trying to avoid being noticed by any of the men. If anyone paused to notice that she hadn't gone below for safety's sake, they would insist that she go. Of course, she intended to do no such thing, though she doubted she could actually _help_, even if the crew _would_ let her "exert herself." And then there was Jack. She doubted whether he would even want to see her at all. So it was just as well, she supposed, that she couldn't do anything but watch silently from the sidelines…

Unless… It was silly, of course, and she felt silly for even trying, but still…

Gwen conjured up in her mind memories of every storm she'd ever seen. She pictured very clearly exactly how the sea would pitch and swell, how the clouds would swarm and tangle. And then she hoped and wished… She tried very hard not to feel ridiculous, hiding in the shadow of the stairs on deck, imagining that she could stir up storms; she tried very hard instead to _believe_ the things that Jack and AnaMaria and the Romans and even Elizabeth had been repeating recently…

If some ancestor of hers had been able to cull Roman ships off from their fleets by using a conjured storm to corral them, then she could as well, couldn't she? If it was all true. If they could do that, then surely she could get rid of the _Dauntless_. She could just direct a strong northerly wind into its sails or something, send it far away from them. In a storm Norrington would be too busy trying to keep his own ship afloat to bother with the _Pearl_. They would be free to go without having to confront the naval vessel. If it were all true, that is…

Gwen's doubts in her abilities soon melted and disappeared. She was rather startled at first, then intrigued, when she noticed that the sky, which had been growing steadily lighter with the dawn, was beginning to darken again, filling with thick, sinister-looking clouds before her very eyes. The breeze changed direction and grew stiff and cool and increasingly more powerful. The waves grew choppier by the moment, and the shouts of sailors changed in intensity and urgency as sheets of cold rain came pouring down.

But at that particular moment Gwen wasn't thinking of how the _Dauntless_ was faring now, or of her apparent success with summoning up a gale. It was then that she suddenly realized her great _faux pas_.

On the level of making decisions and carrying them out, Jack and Gwen could both make up their minds very quickly if they needed to. The difference between them, though, was that Jack somehow always managed to cram more cause-and-effect considerations and simple logic into his ideas in the same brief time-span. Unfortunately for Gwen, her split-second decisions didn't always turn out so well. They frequently landed her into trouble, and her rash choices were a favorite topic with Jack for teasing her. It was one of these such impulsive plots of hers that had thumped her down aboard the _Black Pearl_ in the first place, so many long months ago.

And it was in this, Gwen knew, that she had gone astray again. Now that she'd so impetuously created a storm, an incredulous feat in itself, she was unnerved to realize that she no idea how to control it. Or contain it. And the great problem she'd overlooked in her haste, the great problem inherent in trying to trap _one_ ship in a storm was if that _one_ ship-- perhaps the _Dauntless,_ for example-- happened to be very close to _another_ ship-- perhaps the _Pearl_-- well, then… woe be to _both_ of them. Clearly her ancestor had been much cleverer and more practiced at wielding his ship-snatching storms. Or had he been able, perhaps, to--

Gwen's frantic thoughts were closed down when a huge wave crashed over the _Pearl_, shaking her grip on the underside of the staircase loose. Every man on the ship had turned up on the main deck, abandoning the cannons and oars, and all were hauling lines with all their might. _They_simply hung on tighter as the water washed over them, but Gwen couldn't find anything to gain purchase. A single second stretched into a slow, tortuous eternity as she lost her balance to the wave, the ship slipped away, and she became aware only of water. Churning water everywhere.

She thought she might have heard a shout go up for her sake, but wasn't sure. She tried to focus on staying afloat, but swimming wasn't one of her strong points, and she was encumbered by her stomach.

She'd really gone and done it this time.


	16. Two Rescues, Neither Happy

Disclaimer: Knock knock. _Who's there? _Donna Sue. _Donna Sue who?_ Donna sue me; I'm broke. (Laugh or it's off the plank with you!)

* * *

Chapter 16: Two Rescues, Neither Happy

* * *

Gwen had really gone and done it this time. She'd heard warnings all her life, some teasing and some quite serious, that her rash actions and occasional lack of good logic would get her into trouble. And now she was drowning in trouble. Far too literally.

Gwen thought she might have heard a shout go up as she felt herself swept overboard and into the heaving sea, but she couldn't be sure. She tried desperately to stay afloat, think of a solution to her dilemma, and hope for help. Staying afloat proved difficult due to her already poor swimming abilities, not to mentionthe waves tossing her and plunging her underwater again every time she regained the surface. Thinking of a solution was right out since she was rather preoccupied with trying to successfully perform the first feat of simply staying alive. But hoping for help was suddenly the most desparate thought in her mind…

She caught a glimpse of the _Pearl_ as she broke the surface again, struggling for air, and nearly lost her breath again when she spied, in that brief second, a familiar form diving from the half-deck.

Jack.

* * *

Jack surfaced quickly, fighting furiously against the pitching sea. He peered into the gloom, trying to spot Gwen again. Suddenly she appeared, battling for another lungful of air at the crest of a wave quite some distance from him. He struck out towards her, diving below to try to avoid the worst of the crashing waves.

How long it took him to finally reach her Jack couldn't even estimate. But later he would guess it had taken him about as long as it takes a barmaid to bring out a third drink. The first drink never counts toward anything, and the second can be dismissed as a drink taken socially. But the third, when it finally arrives after an impatient wait, always promises to bring drunkenness, and as many more drinks as is necessary to get there.

Jack felt like he was drunk. There was that slight haze of the surreal hovering about him, the same kind of sensation that usually meant to a drunk man that he wouldn't remember any of this the next morning. After an eternity, wedged into a few minutes of swimming, Jack found himself struggling back toward the _Black Pearl_ with Gwen in tow. She was coughing and spluttering, but trying to help him by paddling along as much as she could. It took every muscle and sinew in Jack's body and all his willpower to keep stroking toward the ship. Every new wave seemed to take them even farther away rather than closer, and the more he swam the more exhausted he became.

If he could just make it to the _Pearl_, this particular bad dream would be over. He would wake up with a nasty hangover, and Gwen would bring him a glass of water and smile as she scolded him for getting so drunk. And if it wasn't a dream, well… then there would be no glass of water or smile, and he'd have to make it back to the _Pearl_, try to save his ship from the storm, possibly still fight or outwit Norrington, find the Turners' kid and Murphy, thwart Murphy's plans (whatever they were), keep him from finding out about Gwen, try to keep Gwen from doing anything stupid even though she was mad at him, and hope the Romans didn't get upset with all the interference and kill him outright before he could save Gwen from them as well.

But the line that was thrown to them when they finally neared the _Pearl_ was very real. The faces of the men hauling them back aboard were very real. The tossing sea was very real. Despite the successful rescue, Jack scowled. It wasn't a dream. Damn.

* * *

"What did you say?" Gwen clung to the rope with all her remaining strength as the men aboard pulled them toward the ship, still fighting against the sea and sheets of cold rain blasting them. Jack was behind her, his arms wrapped around her body just under hers, his hands below hers on the rescue-line.

"Damn," Jack repeated, yellingso he could be heard about the rush as they were pulled out of the water.

"Damn what?" she asked in a shout over her shoulder. She closed her mouth just in time to avoid swallowing more seawater as another huge wave crashed against the side of the _Pearl_, rocking the ship dangerously to one side and dashing Gwen and Jack against her hull.

But the answer to Gwen's question didn't come. In a fraction of a second, the arms were gone from around her. Gwen couldn't feel his weight pressing against her back. His hands no longer grasped the line below hers. Jack was gone.

"No," Gwen protested automatically, uselessly. She twisted about, straining to peer into the churning sea, looking for him, but she couldn't spot his form anywhere. "Jack!"

Their load made suddenly lighter, the men hauled Gwen the rest of the way up to the half-deck in a trice. Before anyone could phrase the question about the suddenly missing captain, Gwen said in a rush, "We lost Jack! Look for him! Throw him a line! Do something!"

Her words weren't needed to incite them to action. But all they really could do was rush to the rail and peer out into the waves. Gwen stood with them, searching the waters for anything remotely Jack-shaped for a long moment, until it suddenly occurred to her that she was the cause for all of this mess. Perhaps if she just reversed the process…

Gwen closed her eyes, sealing off the distraction of the current situation. Instead of the storm-tossed nightmare, she fiercely imagined a sea as smooth as Jack's-- well, she imagined a much calmer sea. She fervently wished the clouds away, and silently asked the winds to cease. When at long last, after several long minutes of concentration, she finally opened her eyes again, it was a very different scene that greeted her eyes.

The sun had risen fully while the storm had been raging and could now lend its shine to them around the broken, defeated clouds that were slowly limping away to the corners of the sky. The sea was still choppy, but in the space of a few minutes, the waves had miraculously fallen from churning terror to merely rough swells. The cold bite had left the wind, and it was once again balmy and peaceable.

"Do you see Jack now?" she heard herself asking immediately.

No answer was forthcoming from any of the crew. She turned and found that nearly all of them had taken at least a few steps away from her. She stood alone at the port rail. Some of her closer friends among them, like Ben and Serge, looked as though they wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say. Uncertainly, Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find anything to say to them either.

"I think I sees 'im," came a voice from the poop deck.

Grateful for the distraction and for the news, Gwen hurried to Gibbs' side at the helm. He was looking at her just as oddly, she noted, but at least he wasn't staring at her like many of the others. She would worry about them, and all the other repercussions of her little weather-playing, later.

Gwen looked where Gibbs pointed, and her jaw dropped. Even at this distance, she could just make out Jack's dreadlocks, all right. That was clearly his hair, attached to what was clearly his body, a body that was being disentangled from a net by men in uniform, standing on the deck of what was clearly the _Dauntless_. Clearly, she _really_ had gone and done it.

The _Dauntless_ was moving away.

It wasn't Gwen who was paying for what she had done, for trying to use a gift she knew nothing about using, without thinking. It was Jack, who had plunged after her to save her, even after she'd yelled at him because she had thought she knew better than he did how to deal with her "gift" and the related problems.

Yet it was Jack who was in Norrington's hands now.


	17. He Said Not a Word

Disclaimer: _**N**_ is for Not much here is mine. _**O**_ is for Only Gwen and Murphy and a few other tidbits are actually mine. _**S**_ is for Ships, of which there are plenty here. _**U**_ is for Unrelated things, like teriyaki stir-fry. _**E**_ is for Everyone who reads this. _**M**_ is for Me, the author. And **_E_** is for Enjoy.

* * *

_A/N: This is an author's note with no real purpose, other than to warn you that in the future you should disregard author's notes with no real purpose other than to warn you of something._

* * *

Chapter 17: He Said Not a Word

* * *

"Morning, Commodore. Rough seas, eh?" 

Norrington offered only a tight, mirthless smile at the greeting.

Ignoring the commodore's lack of small talk then, Jack turned to the nearest two soldiers (besides those standing at both sides and behind him, guarding him). "You there," he called out to a pair who were working untangling and stowing the net they had caught him in. "Fetch me my irons. I'll have whichever pair has the longest chain and the least rust. They chafe otherwise." Turning back to Norrington for a moment, he asked, "What'll _you_ have?" He didn't allow for a response, however, but turned again to call back to the sailors, "And the commodore would like some rum and a few apples to break his fast."

"Mr. Sparrow," Norrington said, acting as though Jack hadn't spoken at all, "Might I venture to ask what you're doing in this part of the world?"

"So are ye asking me, or are ye still working on the 'venturing' part?"

"Mr. Sparrow," Norrington scolded sternly, not at all in the mood for the pirate's silly games.

"_Captain_-- that's _Captain_ Sparrow," Jack put in, then went on quickly before Norrington could comment on proper titles and how they were won. "We're... on holiday. Lovely scenery around here. Odd weather though, eh?"

Odd weather indeed. An odd tingle ran up Jack's spine at what it could mean: a sudden squall, from completely nonexistent to nothing more than a memory in the space of less than half an hour?

Over Norrington's shoulder, Jack could see the _Pearl._ He estimated it was at least half a league away. The _Pearl_ and the _Dauntless_ were now facing in almost exactly opposite directions, and with a glance up at the sails, Jack saw that the winds were in the _Dauntless'_ favor if Norrington decided to leave the area. The _Pearl_ would have to heave about a hundred-eighty degrees in order to give chase.

"Indeed" was Norrington's only reply to Jack's comments.

Jack eyed the rail on the starboard side of the _Dauntless_, a good twelve feet from where he stood now. If he was quick, and timed it just right, he could jump overboard. But his irons arrived in the next second after the thought occurred to him, brought by the man Norrington had sent after them while soldiers were still trying to untangle Jack's hair from the net they'd caught him with. Abandoning that simple first plan as useless now, Jack quickly thought of another.

"The Mediterranean's a bit far for ye, isn't it, Commodore?" Jack began as the British sailors clapped the manacles around his wrists. He didn't give time for Norrington to comment, but pressed on, "Ye wouldn't be searching for a kidnapper, by chance, would ye?"

Norrington, who had been about to order Jack to be taken away from his presence, now frowned even harder at the pirate. "What do you know of Mr. and Mrs. Turner?"

"The Turners?" he repeated dumbly. "Oh, that daft pair that wouldn't let ye hang me that one time... Didn't they have a son, Bilbo, or Henry, or something?"

"I grow tired of your games, Mr. Sparrow. Do you know where they are or not?"

"Can't say I do. But--"

Jack was interrupted when a shout came down from the look-outs. There was a third ship in the area now, just sighted.

Jack turned toward the horizon. The faint form materializing there seemed, even at the distance, to be reddish in hue. Jack quickly abandoned this second plan and began to hatch a third.

Murphy was on his way now. It was probably by accident, Jack would wager; Murphy had probably been knocked off-course by the storm (which Jack was by now certain had been summoned by Gwen herself, since that was the only plausible explanation for it). In a matter of two or three seconds, Jack flicked through an inventory of the three ships.

The _Dauntless_: Jack was on it, wanted off it. Norrington wanted Brant, whom he thought wasa kidnapper,and the Turners on it.

The _Black Pearl_: Jack wanted to be there. Brant and the Turners were there. Gwen was there. The Turners wanted their son to be there as well.

The _Lux Fortunaque Mundi_, Murphy's red-painted ship: The little Turner was there; he needed to be returned to the _Pearl_. The person Murphy really wanted to be aboard his own ship was Gwen.

Jack took the action that seemed the most obvious to him. Turningback to Norrington, and pointing toward the red ship on the horizon he said, "I know that ship, Commodore, and 'er captain. Ye'll want to ask him about the Turners, no doubt."

"Why?"

"'E's got 'em."

* * *

"Two ships, Cap'n. One's the _Pearl_." 

Murphy toyed with his thick red beard, squinting at the tiny ships they were approaching. The nearer vessel was obviously Jack's treasured black ship. "And th' other?" Murphy questioned his crewman.

"Skip thinks it's naval, by its colors."

A sudden wail penetrated the pensive moment. Murphy turned towards a young cabin boy. "Don' jes stan' thair!" he said irritably. The boy leapt to his feet and scooted off toward the source of the cries. Of all the crew, the young fellow was one of only a few who could manage the babe at all.

That nuisance at least temporarily taken care of, Murphy focused again on the _Black Pearl._ He'd been mistaken, he had realized by now, in kidnapping the baby. The little whelp was clearly no more than just an average baby. But if Murphy had had any doubt at all that Jack still had the real _Lux _on board his ship, now he knew for certain: he was aboard the _Black Pearl_. The freak storm that had just blown through had baffled his entire crew. But now, to happen upon Jack's ship like this right in the area that had been the focus of the gale, Murphy knew the _Lux_ had to have been the cause of the storm, and had to be on board the…

Murphy hesitated. The _Lux _was on _one_ of the ships ahead, that much was certain. But that didn't necessarily mean the _Pearl_. Perhaps he was on the _other _ship. That could be why both ships were here like this: Jack was conferring with the _Lux_.

As they drew nearer to the two ships ahead, Murphy was justified when, through a spyglass, he espied Jack, not on the _Black Pearl_'s deck, but aboard the other ship. This second ship, Murphy would admit, _did _look awfully like a naval vessel. Its crew even wore surprisingly realistic uniforms. Jack, that ambitious little devil! He'd gone to extensive ends, it seemed, to hide and disguise the _Lux_, to keep his unnatural talents all to himself-- even going so far as to masquerade an entire ship. Excellent idea, Murphy thought. If he hadn't seen Jack talking with the men aboard the vessel so affably-- in a word, if he hadn't seen it for himself, he certainly wouldn't have ever thought to search what appeared to be a ship belonging to the English Royal Navy.

Trust his old shipmate Jack to be so wily. And go even so far as to set up a rendezvous this far out on the sea, yes… When this was all over, he'd have to commend Jack. Curse him for interfering; there were things far more important to need a _Lux_'s aid for than whatever conquering schemes Jack might have in mind. But he'd have to commend Jack nonetheless.

* * *

Norrington nodded toward the lieutenant hovering nearby with the keys still in hand. The lieutenant stepped forward obediently, though he didn't appear happy with his orders, and unlocked Jack's manacles. 

"Now," Jack went on, unfazed, "so long as Murphy's convinced ye're friendly to, er… my operations, he'll gladly turn over the Turners." Jack hoped so, anyway. By now, he assumed, Murphy would have had plenty of time to figure out the Turners' baby, precious though he was to his parents, was just a baby. The only kink in Jack's plan now was the simple fact that Norrington and his ship looked far too much like a stuffy naval commodore and a stuffy naval ship. Well, then there wasthe fact that only one of the three Turners was actually aboard Murphy's ship when he was trying to convince Norrington all of them were there... bah, minor details. Jack would figure that out as he went along.

"Mr. Sparrow, what is it exactly that you intend to gain from this escapade?"

Ah, so Norrington was suspicious of Jack's volunteering to lead negotiations with a fellow law-breaking captain? Jack frowned. Norrington was entirely too predictable. Jack risked a glance toward the approaching vessel. It was just passing the _Pearl_, and nearing the _Dauntless_. He could see Murphy's crew furling sails and scampering about to trim back speed on the approach. As for the _Pearl_-- they were struggling against to turn the ship about and get the wind to the aft rather than astern. No matter; if things went off well, perhaps he wouldn't needhis crew to help outjust now.

"Why, Commodore, do ye doubt me? I only hope to save sweet young innocence from the tyrannical hands of an evil man," Jack said in a very grandiose manner, flashing a gold-rimmed grin at him. "And perhaps save the baby as well," he muttered under his breath, turning to cast a more pointed look at the approaching burgundy ship. "Now," he said aloud, "here's what we'll do: All_you_ have to do is play along. And _I'll_ just ask Captain Murphy to return the Turners to ye. What say ye?"

Norrington looked as if he were about to say something, but Jack cut in again, lowering his voice conspiratorially and affecting a more insistent tone. "But whatever ye do, if Murphy brings up the _Lux_, deny anything he says, aye? Actually, ye know what, just let me do all the talking, savvy? Don't do anything stupid, Commodore." So saying, Jack suddenly looked rather cheerful, the same way that people tend to suddenly put on airs of everything being hunky-dory after just discussing grave matters.

It didn't seem to take very long before Murphy's ship came sliding up along the _Dauntless_' starboard side, only twenty-five or thirty feet away. "G'mairnin', Jack," came a call in a thick brogue.

* * *

Jack gave Norrington a significant look, a clear reminder that the commodore was not to violate the instructions he'd been given. Then the pirate turned to address the man who had called out. 

"Murphy, ye dog, what brings ye here this morning?"

"A stairm of _historical_ pr'partions, if ye un'erstan' m' meanin'," Murphy explained. It was clear to Norrington that the red-haired man's words were _full _of meaning; he was trying to draw something out of Mr. Sparrow.

"It _was_ odd," was all Jack answered. "Listen, Murphy, this gentleman would appreciate the return of the Turners." Jack gestured toward Norrington appropriately at "gentleman."

Murphy didn't seem to notice the plural of the _Turners_. His eyes shifted from Jack to Norrington to the members of the _Dauntless_' crew behind them, and back again. He motioned to one of his own crew members behind him. "I migh' be persuaded t' trade fer 'im," Murphy called back. A young lad appeared just behind Murphy and to one side, looking a bit uncomfortable with his task and cradling a bundle of blankets in his arms.

"Trade? Trade for what?" Jack asked innocently.

"Ye're not an 'alf-wit, Jack; ye know why I took 'im, don' ye?"

"The whelp isn't the one ye're looking for, Murphy," Jack said.

"Tha' I know now. But 'oo is, then?"

"I don't know."

"Jack. Jack," Murphy drawled. "Ye trus' me, don' ye? After all this time we've known a'chother. Don' ye trus' tha' I have good reasons? I wan' the _Lux_ fer a _good_ cause o' mine. I know ye know 'oo 'e is. Tell me. An' we'll trade, whelp fer _Lux_, aye?"

Norrington started to speak up, but he was quickly silenced by Captain Sparrow, who cleared his throat very loudly and threw a nervous but stern look at the commodore. Norrington was no fool. He didn't know where Will and Elizabeth were, or what the two men were talking about. But he knew better than to follow any plan laid down by a pirate, and he knew better than to trust an outlaw. If Mr. Sparrow was so adamant that he not mention the _Lux_, whatever it meant to him and this Captain Murphy, it could only mean that the pirate hoped to gain something for himself by avoiding the subject. Therefore, by simple logic, it made perfect sense that if he, as commodore and military leader here, wanted to maintain control of this situation, he would have to reject Sparrow's suggestions.

"I don't know," Jack was saying, "I swear on my eleventh tattoo. Just give us the baby here, and then you and I can worry about the bloody _Lux_, aye? Just--"

"_I_ am the _Lux_, Captain Murphy," Norrington interrupted imperiously, stepping forward. Judging by Murphy's instantaneous reaction to this statement, Norrington knew he'd done the right thing.

"Ignore him!" Jack said desperately, dashing in front of Norrington and waving his arms. "He's mad. Cousin of a friend's oldest uncle's son.Likes to masquerade as a Commodore, see? Mad! Look at the poorly-made fake uniforms!" He popped a button off Norrington's chest and waved it at Murphy as evidence. But neither Murphy nor Norrington were paying much attention to Jack's protestations. Besides which, Murphy, for his part, was already convinced that the uniforms were fake anyway.

"Return young William Turner to me, and his parents," Norrington commanded, unaware of the fact that his wording made it sound as though "the parents" were with him.

Murphy was struck with a sort of awestruck humility that comes when someone very suddenly and unexpectedly meets a childhood hero or a previously faceless savior. "_Lux_, Yer Lor'ship, whatever 'tis ye're called, ye're welcome to do as ye like wi' the babe," he said.

With smug conceit, Norrington quickly arranged to cross over on a hastily-rigged gangplank and collect the child and have his parents surrendered to him as well. He was received aboard with a series of bows from Murphy. The red-haired captain motioned and glared at his crew until they followed suit, paying obeisance to him. "The Turners," Norrington reminded condescendingly.

"Whatever ye wish," Murphy said. He motioned toward the boy still holding the Turner child. He also motioned to other crew members above and behind him, but Norrington didn't catch those motions, as he was busy awkwardly accepting the bundled baby from the lad.

If Jack had known that, several hundred years later, a device would be created that would allow people to capture priceless moments in order to cherish them forever-- if such a fantastic contrivance as a camera had been available, he would have given up rum for a solid week to have one just then. When Norrington turned and saw that Jack had easily fought off the soldiers who tried to restrain him on the _Dauntless_, had crossed over to Murphy's ship behind him, and had kicked the gangplank out after crossing-- when Norrington realized that Murphy was making haste to get his ship away from the _Dauntless_, and that there were no more Turners in evidence-- there was a precise moment in there somewhere when he looked at Jack, with the baby still in his arms, and an expression on his face that said he realized that he'd been had. In trying to second-guess the devious pirate, he'd ended up following Jack's plan exactly as the blasted villain had intended.

It would have been a Kodak moment, if only this story could have managed enough anachronism to grant Jack a camera. Instead, Jack responded simply by grinning back at Norrington, gold teeth gleaming, and said not a word; it wasn't necessary.


	18. He Who Laughs

Disclaimer: Hello. This is my story, but yes, it's true: Much of the stuff in the story isn't exactly mine. That is to say that I… well, it's like… Look, over there, a distraction! _The author sneaks away before anyone can sue her over something silly..._

* * *

Chapter 18: He Who Laughs

* * *

The _Dauntless_ had by now heaved to and brought its guns to bear on Murphy's burgundy-hued vessel… but too late. 

The _Lux Fortunaque Mundi_ had started putting distance between the two ships while the _Dauntless_' crew were still reeling with surprise at how easily their commanding officer had been apprehended. By the time they began to give chase, the naval ship had another problem to deal with: the _Pearl_ had come about while everyone had been concerned with Murphy's ship and was now preparing to fire on the _Dauntless_. Seeing that things were being well-taken care of all around, Jack's mood was improved even greater. Though, of course, he _was_ hoping that Murphy wouldn't notice the animosity between the _Pearl_ and the supposedly "fake" military ship.

"Where are the Turners?" Norrington finally managed to ask.

"Turners?" Murphy shook his head, a rather absent-minded gesture since he was preoccupied thinking about his own sudden turn of good fortune.

"The little'un's parents," Jack explained quickly. Motioning toward Norrington, who still stood awkwardly with the baby, unsure what to do with it, Jack went on delicately, "_He's_ not too happy about your little mistake in kidnappin' the whelp. Are ye, Commodore?"

The commodore was aware that Jack was still manipulating him, but he couldn't think of any way to respond that would win him some control back. It didn't matter that he said nothing, though, for Jack spared him hardly a second of attention anyway.

Jack turned away just as quickly as he had turned to him, leaned forward and said in a low voice to Murphy, "I wouldn't want to upset him, if I were you. He's a little… ye know." He tapped his forehead and made an appropriate grimace. "Just a little, though, no worries. But, er... best call him 'Commodore.' He likes that."

Murphy's eyes shone with comprehension of two points. Firstly, Jack had all but just admitted that this man was, in fact, the _Lux_. Secondly, if he was going to pry favors from the _Lux_, he was definitely going to want him to be on his side.

Murphy fidgeted with his beard reflexively as he considered these things. He was trying to stare thoughtfully at Norrington without Norrington realizing that he was staring thoughtfully at him. Finally, Murphy gave up and stared at Jack instead. Then he looked as though he would say something, but he realized that they were standing on the open deck of his ship, where any of his crew could overhear.

Executing an awkward half-bow in Norrington's direction to take leave of him, Murphy pulled Jack aside into his map room. "Now," he began, "why are ye lettin' me ha' th' _Lux_, Jack? Are ye… finished w' 'im?"

"Finished?" Jack repeated, clearly amused about something. "Aye, I'm finished with the commodore."

Murphy leaned closer, and with a conspiratorial lift of one bushy red eyebrow, asked, "Wha'd ye need 'im fer, Jack? Take o'er a small islan' soomwhar whi'st I were'n lookin'?"

"That was always _your_ dream, wunnit, mate?" Jack said, still grinning. "No, I jus'… decided I didn't need the old fool. Too much power for me to handle. Nah, ye're welcome to 'im. Let me know how your island thing turns out, aye?"

Murphy drew himself up pridefully and began to say something, but he withheld himself. He merely nodded acknowledgement of Jack's words instead.

Jack went on, "Now, to keep 'im happy, ye'll just want to fix your little mistake and give the whelp back to 'is parents, right? Well, ye're in luck; ol' Jack can fix ye right up. I happen to have a couple of Turners stashed on me ship just now. All _you_ have to do is give the _Pearl_ a chance to take leave of the other ship, then we'll rendezvous with them, see? Then I'll just scurry right back over to the _Pearl_, take the little dupe with me, and leave ye to your business with, er-- with your _Lux_. Aye?" _Take leave_ of the _Dauntless_ indeed. Jack was hoping his crew would properly maim the naval ship before they deigned to leave the area.

Murphy's suspicion of Jack's motives in being so accommodating was eaten up by his stronger faith that Jack was merely being friendly. So for his own part, Murphy was well pleased with the arrangement, and well pleased that Jack apparently still thought of him as much a comrade as they had been when they had been shipmates. From Jack's view of things, he was pleased Murphy had bought the lines he'd fed him, but he was also somewhat disappointed. The Murphy he remembered was rather a shrewder fellow than the man standing before him now. Murphy had either mellowed considerably in the past years, or else he had something on his mind that was distracting him.

Nonetheless, Murphy and Jack shook hands on their deal, and that was that.

* * *

Jack was more than eager to be back aboard the _Pearl_. By the time he thought it was safe to pull out his compass and give Murphy directions to find his ship again, convinced they'd had plenty of time to get well away from the _Dauntless_, it was already late in the morning. It was well after noon by the time the _Pearl_ finally came into view. Luckily, Jack's crew had guessed he'd find his way back to them if they gave him a chance, and they were sitting in the water with sails furled waiting on him to show. Jack knew well the speed his own ship was capable of, and knew he'd have never caught them if they hadn't been waiting for him. 

He vowed to find some subtle way to repay his first mate or the Turners or … well, whoever it was who had decided to hold a steady position until he found them. Because if he had to put up with much more of this, he'd go mad from suppressing laughter for too long.

All day long, with thin restraint, he watched the comedy being acted out by the commodore and Murphy.

Feeling rather silly and inadequate for the job of babysitter, Norrington finally decided he could trust somebody else to hold the baby while he waited for the pirates to find the Turners, as Murphy promised they would. The young lad whom Murphy brought forward to watch after the baby, however, was of a nervous, jittery sort and constantly stammered out questions and suggestions, such as "Mightn't 'ee be 'ungry, sir? Shall I gi' 'im summat?" or "P'raps 'ee's tired, sir? Shall I put 'im a-bed?"

But if having the boy bothering him weren't enough, Norrington had to put up with Murphy as well. The great red man never made any effort to put the commodore in chains or take him below to lock him up somewhere as a prisoner. Instead, he treated him like royalty. Murphy offered his guest all manner of food and drink; he brought forward some of his crew members to polish the commodore's shoes; he had satin cushions brought up for him to sit on, then sent them away to be traded for silk ones; he even had the feather in the commodore's hat replaced with a shimmering blue-and-gold plume of peacock feathers. Norrington was baffled, but he guessed, correctly, that if he were to say that he was not, in fact, this _Lux_ character, things would take a sudden nosedive for the worst.

Such was the scene Jack gladly left when he was finally able to cross back onto his own ship, carefully cradling the Turners' child. He would only have to keep up his charade for a few minutes longer, and then he could laugh all he wanted. He relinquished the baby back into the hands of his parents, who showered Jack with gratitude and the baby with kisses. Then Jack waved and yelled a wish for good luck back across to Murphy, and wished the commodore farewell and safe journeys.

In high spirits, he turned then and headed up toward the poop deck.

His grin faltered, though, when he finally noticed Gwen. The smile she wore was an odd mix of relief to have him back on board and belated gratitude at the risks he'd taken to rescue her earlier that morning. But her eyes were gloomy with the knowledge that relief and gratitude were not enough to mend their broken bond. Jack stared back at her for a long moment. Neither moved; they just shared the sad silence as they both acknowledged the rift that was still between them. Jack swallowed compulsively a few times, and then, with a little jolt, walked past her and up to the helm.

It was scarcely a few minutes later, while Jack was in this somewhat depleted mood, that word came down that another ship had been sighted. The _Lux Fortunaque Mundi_, still nearby but a third of a league closer to the incoming vessel, had in fact sighted it first, and had signaled good-naturedly to the _Black Pearl_ to share the information. As soon as it came within sight of the _Pearl_'s lookout, the new ship was identified as the _Gilder_, Anamaria's ship.

Jack scowled as he watched the blonde-wood ship approach. AnaMaria had willingly stayed behind to reassure the Romans and keep things under control from that end until Jack returned to Rome deal with the Romans. If she was here, it meant two things that were certain: First, she had to have at least Gaius, the Roman commander, aboard with her, for he and his compass would be the only way AnaMaria could have ever located the _Black Pearl_. Second, no matter why she was here now, it could only mean that there was trouble.

As he would soon find out, Jack was right on both counts.

The _Gilder_ maneuvered carefully up alongside the _Pearl_, just close enough to throw a stone at one's hull from the deck of the other. This Jack allowed since AnaMaria was his ally, but he put his crew on alert nonetheless. His suspicions were justified, for no sooner had the _Gilder_ sidled up beside them, than a figure hidden in the smaller ship's rigging revealed himself suddenly. He swooped out on a line over the short distance between the ships and landed heavily but neatly on the deck of the _Pearl_.

"Mr. Sparrow!" Gaius called up to the poop deck, his voice ringing with the accent of his native Latin tongue and with a deadly urgency. He had donned modern apparel while in Rome; he hadn't changed from these clothes, but he had put his mantle back on over the shirt and trousers.

"I?" Jack answered, coming down to the half-deck to confront the unsolicited visitor.

"The fleet is close behind," he said, speaking quickly. Lapsing back into Latin in his haste, he went on, "_They are ready for battle. I must have the Lux_."

Jack paused on the stairs, frowning as he worked on translating the man's words in his mind.

"_Estne ea ubi_?" Gaius demanded impatiently when Jack didn't respond quickly enough. Realizing his slipping tongue then, he repeated in English, "Where is she?"

"Ye can't have her until ye explain why--"

"There is no time for that now." Gaius was distracted then by a movement. Some of the _Pearl_'s crew had been hiding Gwen, trying to appear nonchalant about it, while Gwen tried slowly sneaking towards the stairs to go below decks. But Gaius spotted her.

Suddenly, the Roman pulled a pistol from somewhere within his cloak. He pointed it at Jack and called out toward where he now knew Gwen to be, "Come with me or I will shoot him."

Judging from the clumsy way that Gaius was holding the weapon, Jack seriously doubted the man actually knew how to use it. He was willing to gamble on that supposition. But Gwen had already, reluctantly, begun to go to Gaius, her eyes shifting between Jack and the erstwhile gunman.

"Gwen… don't," Jack ordered.

"I will shoot," Gaius repeated.

"And probably miss," Jack said. "Gwen, don't let him take ye; back away, now." Jack began descending the stairs again while he spoke, preparing to take down the Roman before he could fire a shot.

"_He_ might miss, but I won't," called out a familiar voice.

Jack paused and turned to look across to the _Gilder_. "AnaMaria," he said slowly. His tone was exactly the same tone that a sailor uses to chastise a seagull who has just sullied a freshly-swabbed deck.

AnaMaria gestured slightly with the carbine she held pointed at Jack. Ignoring Jack, though, she looked past to Gwen and said, "Come along, Gwen, you don't want me to do this."

Gwen hesitated, but really there was nothing else she could do other than allow Gaius to swing her back onto the _Gilder_ with him. Gwen avoided Jack's eyes, but he could see she was biting down fiercely on her lower lip. She crossed silently to the waiting Roman commander, obediently took hold of the rope and allowed him to wrap one arm around her.

Jack watched, uncomfortable and angered with his helplessness in this situation, as she was swept off the deck of the _Black Pearl_ and over to the _Gilder_. Her feet scarcely touched the deck there before the Roman hustled her into the map room and shut the door firmly behind them. Jack glanced back at AnaMaria.

"Sorry, Jack," she began.

Jack cut her off with a rude gesture before she could continue. Sorry indeed. There was one thing about Jack's sort of friends that could be both a good thing or a bad thing, depending on the situation: they always did what was right by them. That coupled with the fact that all of Jack's friends had a price for which they would do just about anything and well... where did loyalty fit into all that?

Jack scowled as he wondered what AnaMaria had been promised as a reward for helping Gaius find Gwen. And what dastardly deeds the Roman and his fleet were going to make Gwen do for them.

* * *

Murphy stepped back, lowering his spyglass, his expression one of enlightenment mixed with an offended frown at what he had just observed passing between the _Black Pearl_ and the _Gilder_. How clearly he understood everything now. 


	19. Glory and Sanctuary

Disclaimer, n. (dis-KLAYM-er) A plea to copyright holders not to sue poor fanfic writers.

* * *

Chapter 19: Glory or Sanctuary

* * *

Gwen bit her lip as she hesitantly complied with the Roman's and AnaMaria's demands. She avoided Jack's eyes as she passed him, knowing what she would see in them. '_Don't let him take ye_,' Jack had said. The way he said it brought her back in a flash to the night before. She recognized the exact tone and inflection in his voice. He had tried to tell her then, but she hadn't listened: _he_ didn't want _her _to be taken from him the same way that other things had been taken from him in his past.

She was scarcely aware of it when she was set down aboard the _Gilder_ or when Gaius swept her off into the map room. The accusations she'd made to Jack, that he didn't care at all about what happened to her… he had tried to tell her… He had tried. And she hadn't listened.

* * *

The _Gilder _moved slowly away from the _Black Pearl_ during the span of time that Gwen and Gaius were out of sight in the privacy of AnaMaria's map room. Jack was seething, but he accepted AnaMaria's betrayal with gloomy resignation. She'd betrayed him before; even his own first mate Gibbs had willingly left him to die at the hands of Norrington's executioner at one point. The fact that she had changed her mind in that particular instance and hadcome back for him with the rest of the crewdidn't mean she would _never_ betray his trust again. And of course, it would be foolish of him to just blindly hope that AnaMaria would change her mind in a few moments and releaseGwen back into his custody.

Still, though, not dulled by his anger or frustration, Jack's quick mind had already set about finding a solution to the predicament. As he was thinking, the recollection drifted back into his mind of an accusation Gwen had laid to him the previous night: that he had been the one to tell Gaius and Rufus about her peculiar heritage. The words stung him now. Why had he told _them_, anyway? He supposed that he had secretly wanted to find out more about his companion's odd gift and thought that the Romans would end up telling him more than they did.

No time for such thoughts now, though. Back to the matter at hand--

Jack began flirting with ideas of how to attack the _Gilder_ without risking Gwen's safety and long-shot schemes of how to secretly board the _Gilder_. But Jack didn't have enough time or luck to further develop any of his designs of rescue. It was only a matter of a couple or three minutes before another complication presented itself.

Jack's time and luck had just run out, for the _Lux Fortunaque Mundi_ had just begun to fire on the _Pearl_. It was difficult to tell whether Murphy was firing in warning or whether the shots were only hitting the water short of the ship due to the distance and range of his weapons.

* * *

Gwen was frozen in shock at what Gaius expected her to do. The weary and careworn man seemed to look suddenly very old indeed as he watched her reaction.

"You are more worthy than any of your line I have seen. I could not hope to trust a better soul than you to carry it out. The time has come, and you cannot disappoint us now."

Gwen shook her head slowly, more out of amazement than disagreement with anything he said. "That still doesn't explain," she said slowly, "why _now_, after all this time, does the whole fleet wake from their graves to…." She trailed off, watching him expectantly and waiting for the answer.

Gaius had been pacing the floor before her. Rather than answer her immediately, on his next pass by the door, he opened it and leaned out. He stood in this pose for a moment, and though he didn't appear to speak to anyone outside, he got the information he wanted. When he shut the door and turned back to Gwen, he began by saying absently, "They have not been sighted yet."

Since he felt that this gave him enough time to explain more to her, Gaius nodded, mostly to himself, and went on, "Your… great-grandfather, I think he was, very many years ago and his companion sought a medium outside Rome one day. I do not know how or why. I spoke only with the medium and never met either man.

"When I woke in my tomb, I felt drawn to the location from which I was called. The very first thing I did was travel to the medium's hut. She was a very old woman, and didn't seem surprised at all when I told her honestly who I was. She told me that a dark-eyed, dark-haired man and a large red-haired man had been the last visitors she had received, several days earlier. She served them by calling to spirits of the dead linked to them. As the commander of the _Lux_'s fleet, I was summoned. The woman sent me on my way without explaining anything more. I--"

Gaius was interrupted by the sound of semi-distant cannon-fire. He stopped abruptly and went back to the door. He cracked it open and had a brief conversation with someone outside. Then he continued his tale, speaking more quickly than before:

"I understood _why _I had been awakened then, but I did not understand why the _Lux_ would awaken me and then not wait for me. Then it occurred to me that he must not have known who he was."

"Wait," Gwen interjected. "I'm confused... you, and you alone, were _accidentally _resurrected by some fortuneteller? And just because my great-grandfather or whoever he was felt like getting his palm read, or hearing a 'message' from a dead uncle?"

"That, essentially, is exactly what I am telling you," Gaius answered simply.

"What about this great 'battle' and defeating this great enemy that your lieutenant Rufus has been spewing on about for so long? How does that fitwith an _accidental resurrection_?" Gwen asked smugly, hoping she'd just asked the "right question" to get the rest of the story in a neat bundle.

Gaius only frowned slightly, but did not respond in as many details as she would have wished. "I warned you not to listen to everything he told you. He does not know the _entire_ truth."

Gwen scowled. "Well," she tried from another tack, "if you've been wandering around for a hundred years or so, ever since that fortuneteller called to you, shouldn't you be dead by now?"

"Do you honestly think I _am_ alive? I spent centuries resting uneasily in my _grave_, Gwendolyn," he said bluntly, catching her full attention. "I have spent the last century seeking death. I was not really dead when I was buried. And I am notreally alive even now."

Gwen could only stare at him. Fair enough. She floundered for a long moment. Finally, she cleared her throat and tried rerouting him back to the topic she interrupted him from, "So you immediately went searching for the _Lux _descendant, some ancestor of mine, who unknowingly had you... awakened."

"I did," Gaius said.

"Why?"

"It is to the _Lux_ bloodline that I must owe my allegiance, for it was a _Lux_ who first claimed me. He selected several of the ships in my fleet to add to his stolen armada; he drew usin simply by putting a strong wind behind our sails to carry us to him. Hesoon aftergave me command over all of his own fleet. He put a spell on all who swore allegiance to him (and who wouldn't, he being what he was?). The spell, he said, would protect us from real death. We all even thought it a good idea at the time. If we were cut down during battle, then, the _Lux_ could simply ask us to stand again and putour weapons back into our hands to fight for him."

Enlightenment began to dawn over Gwen. Enlightenment, and a sudden sinking feeling as she tried to fathom how this was going to link back to her.

"That _Lux_, though, was assassinated," Gaius continued. "It was discovered that despite his sacred gifts, he had an evil heart. I do now know even of the details of what happened. I know only that he failed and he died. The spell he cast over his entire fleet did not fail. My heart stopped one day centuries ago. But I did not die. I watched my wife and sons bury me. I spent centuries waiting for a _Lux _to tell my heart to begin again. But, over the centuries, all the secrets of your family had failed to be passed on from one generation to the next. When that day I had been awaiting so long finally came, and I was called as the commander of the _Lux_'s fleet... I found that it was only by accident that I had been summoned, and that the man I owed all my loyalty could not know or care of my existence."

Gwen was beginning to feel the beginnings of fatigue. This was too much to take in at once. And she didn't like where this was heading. She absently rubbed her temples as she asked, "What have you done all this time? Obviously, you've learned English. And when did all the rest of your fleet get... _awakened_?"

"I eventually found a berth on a merchant ship and began searching for the _Lux_ with the little knowledge I had of him. I had little luck. For many long years, my search was fruitless. Then one day, I ran across a man that seemed too young to be the man who had gone to see the medium-- by this time, it had been too many years for him to still be young-- but who made my very soul tremble in his presence. I knew it was one of the _Lux _bloodline. I was able to talk to him, briefly, and everything he told me of himself confirmed my suspicionthat he was the son of the _Lux_ who had awakened me. Finally, I told him about his heritage and his gifts, thinking I was doing the right thing. Butthe circumstances of our meeting did not allow me to talk to him much longer. After I told him of his bloodline, I asked him to meet me at a later date at a very particular place at a set time. I was too excited then to realize from the way he dismissed me that he had no intentions of honoring the rendezvous. He never came. I heard legends some years later of his demise on the high seas. This was, as I have been told, your grandfather. I took the stories as truth, never hoping that he might have had offspring. I despaired of ever finding a _Lux _to cure me of the _Lux_-spell. I could not die _again_; I have been half-alive these long years without hope of ever finding the glory of a purpose or the sanctuary of a hallowed grave."

Gaius paused again to go to the door and check on the status of things outside. Apparently the fleet had not yet been spotted, for he turned back and went on, "Only a few years ago, I ran across this again, whether by chance or not, I'll never know." He produced his compass, identical to the one Jack carried. "Your ancestor, the _Lux_ who commanded me, enchanted them, and we each had one. Whether I found it, or whether it finally found me, I cannot say. I purchased it immediately fromthe peddler who had it. And it showed me there was still a _Lux_ alive.

"I found a descendant of the medium who so long ago aroused me from my half-death and had my second, Rufus, revived. I left him to the mystic duty of bringing back the entire fleet of soldiers while I set out with my _Dux_ to find our phantom ships; they still sailed the _Mare Nostrum_, unmanned and unseen. Rufus and the legions still believe what I told them; that is why _they _fell back under my command so easily. They believed my motives."

"What did you tell them?"

"Is it not obvious? They believe you are going to lead them to the glory they were promised by the _Lux _of long ago. They believe there are still enemies to be defeated. I do not know if they would follow if I told them that I had had a century sailing alone in this time seeking a way to _die_.But _you_ must--"

Gaius stopped short when the door burst open without even the courtesy of a knock. It was AnaMaria.

"The fleet," she explained briskly, her eyes moving between the two occupants of the room.

Gwen turned to Gaius. "Idon't know if I can--"

"You can, because you must," he said simply, offering her a hand to help her to her feet.

Gwen bit her lip. She looked anxiously between AnaMaria and Gaius Acerbus for a moment. Then, with a grim determination, she said, "We'll meet them in a boat, Gaius. As far from here as possible. Hurry."

* * *

Murphy picked up a chair and threw it down. Jack watched silently. "Blast yeh, Jack. I trested ye."

"I didn't trust _you_," Jack answered calmly. He was glad that Murphy had at least agreed to talk things over aboard the _Pearl _before they blasted each other's ships to pieces. But there was no sense in beating around the bush; the faster Jack could soothe Murphy, the faster he could get back to the matter of Gwen being in AnaMaria's custody. He might even be able to convince Murphy to help him get her back.

Murphy glared, picked up a heavy candelabra and hurled it to the floor at the far end of the room. Then, his red face glowing under his red hair and beard, he suddenly thumped down in a chair across the table from Jack. "I s'pose tha's fair," he said at length.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Ye thought I wanted t' use yer li'l wench's pow'rso' killin' people to take o'er a city sumwhar? I've already done tha', Jack. An' th' people follor me willingly. Tha's nah why I need 'er 'elp."

Jack stared back in surprise. "Ye swear the truth? Ye swear that ye don't want her for... loot or land or--"

"On me da's grave and me own, tha's the truth," Murphy interrupted. "I need 'er t'--"

"We'll negotiate it later," Jack said, jumping up and heading toward the door of his map room. "We have to _get her back_ first."

Jack nearly ran into Gibbs and Wills as he charged out of the map room and onto the deck of the _Pearl_. They had been coming to tell him about something, but now rather than speak, they wordlessly pointed.

On the horizon was a familiar but unwelcome sight: the vast Roman fleet. Halfway between the distant ships and the _Gilder_, a boat was visible with two occupants. A spyglass was thrust into Jack's hands by Will, but Jack didn't need it to identify the boat's passengers.

"Mebbee they'll just give 'er back if we ask nice," Murphy suggested doubtfully from behind him.


	20. To Bring Life

Disclaimer: Delphein, _proper n_. (DELL'- fane) 1) An amateur fanfiction author who turns no profit from her blatant theft of Disney's theatrical property. 2) An individual who takes comfort in the thought that Disney wouldn't bother to sue such an insignificant person over something so insignificant as borrowing a few characters and a ship or two. Right, Disney?

* * *

_A/N: I'd like to take a moment to set the record straight on "vulgar Latin," in case any of you have heard of this term before. _Vulgar_ is a word that has changed in meaning over the years. Long ago, it only meant "common;" the modern meaning is linked to the fact that many of the prejudiced social elites viewed commoners as crude or uncivilized. By the old definition, a "vulgar" language was a language spoken by commoners of a town, whereas the educated people of a town would give greater care to proper pronunciation and grammar of their own language and often could read, write, and speak additional languages, such as Greek. Thus, "vulgar Latin" is not just a collection of Roman curses and oaths, as many people incorrectly think; it's merely a dialect, if you will, of the Latin language that was spoken by the unscholarly and the common people. By this standard, there are certainly some dialects and accents today that could be called "vulgar English."_

* * *

Chapter 20: To Bring Life

* * *

Gwen's heart was sick as she thought of what she had agreed to do.

"It is not right," Gaius had continued as they had begun to row out to meet the fleet, "for these soldiers to live in these times. They slept the uneasy sleep of a half-death, their souls still alert and waiting for a summons. And now they live a half-life. It isnot right for us to live now. Rome is dead. We have no purpose, but we have no rest."

Now, as Gaius Acerbus, commander of the _Lux_'s lost fleet, rowed them toward the great assemblage of ancient ships and their resurrected crews, Gwen couldn't help but think of the bitter irony. As soon as they were able to hear Gaius' cries of _"Subsistete_!"-- the Roman soldiers had obediently furled sails and halted forward motion to await their commander. They thought that their general was bringing back to them the one who would give them their purpose, the one who would lead them in a great battle against the ancient enemies of Rome, the one who would glorify the sacrifices they had made for the _Lux _so long ago.

For ages, they had been forgotten and the family secrets of the _Lux_ had been lost. And now, it was not a powerful sorcerer coming to lead them in reconquering the world. It was only Gwen, uncertain and hesitant, coming to set things straight.

Gwen blanched at the cheerful looks on the first soldiers' faces she could see. She squeezed her eyes shut against them, trying to stay focused on her awful task. They thought she was bringing them glory-- the only thing these soldiers found worthy of living for.

"This is far enough," she said to Gaius in a choked voice.

The commander stopped rowing and laid his paddle down. He knew better than to stand in the swaying boat to make his oration; but his voice still carried easily enough to the nearest ships, just as his previous call to halt had done. The words spread from ship to ship with great alacrity, until all had been informed of what he had to say to them.

Despite her close proximity to the shouting general, Gwen scarcely heard his words, she was so preoccupied. The few words she did catch, even though he was speaking in the vulgar Latin tongue, were still enough to sketch a clear enough semblance of what he was telling them. He was telling them that the time had come to set things aright; that they had waited in limbo between life and death for far too long; that their due reward was here, brought by the _Lux_.

Gaius turned to Gwen as soon as he had finished his brief address to the legions. "Give us rest," he said gently. He met her eyes, as though he sensed that she needed all the confirmation she could get that this was the best thing for her to do. Gwen stared back at him for a long moment, aware that she was in the presence of a very wise man.

"_Lux es; non caliga in nostrum castellum potest_." He said no more.

Gwen's eyes never left his face. She released several slow breaths as she began to concentrate on what needed to be done. She focused very hard on her desire to set things right, focused on it until it seemed to be to greatest wish she had ever had. She concentrated particularly intensely on the Roman soldiers in the fleet before her.

It began with a peculiar sense of vitality. Gwen felt more alive than she had ever felt before. She felt as though she had thousands of hearts beating, thousands of lungs drawing breath… and then she became aware of an almost crushing weariness. She realized, slowly, that this was the collected vitality of all of the half-alive men she had singled out. They gradually became individuals in her perception, and she became more deeply aware of how troubled were these souls… and how empty their lungs and veins were. They didn't belong among the living at all. They hadn't belonged among the dead either.

Gwen was curiously calm in her realization that her task was a necessary one. It was with this enlightened tranquility that she silently willed the lungs to cease and the hearts to still. Even so, she expected that at any moment, she would feel the backlash of outrage from these men being put to a final death so suddenly unexpectedly. It never came. She sensed surprise, but this impression faded quickly into an impression of peace. First one by one and then score by score, she was aware of the demise of the soldiers. How long it took could never be told. It seemed a very short time to Gwen. The vast empty weight of death settled over her, and it was over.

Suddenly aware that she had closed her eyes at some point, she slowly opened them. Gaius' body was slumped over to one side before her in death. His face, though, did not bear the same ghastly face as Cannon Tom, the man whom her grandfather had killed, had worn. It was a death mask of utmost serenity, the countenance of a man who had welcomed his death. The Roman commander had finally found sanctuary for himself and his forgotten, cursed fleet. The curse that never should have been cast, the curse that had kept them half-alive, was corrected now, many centuries later, by the curse, or blessing, of death.

And things were as they should be, Gwen reminded herself firmly.

Gaius' corpse turned lifelessly pale very quickly before her eyes. Gwen watched, horrified, as his flesh dried and decayed and disappeared, and his muscles and sinews crumbled into nothingness. In a few seconds, all that was left of the man were shriveled and desiccated skeletal remains. She moved mechanically backward into the furthest corner of the small boat, where she huddled on the floor of the craft, still unable to break her gaze away from the withered body, terrorized by the ghastly sight.

Things were as they should be, she reminded herself again, trying to maintain her composure.

Oh God, even if it was the right thing, she had killed him-- had killed them all.

She finally averted her eyes and was met with the sight of the nearest of the Roman ships. Whereas before it had been in perfect condition, now its composing planks were petrified and its sails completely decayed and gone. It looked as though it were a thousand years old.

* * *

Gwen awoke in Jack's arms. She didn't have to open her eyes to recognize the feel and scent of him. She began to speak to him, but she couldn't find the will to part her lips or put together a thought of what she might say to him. Then she realized that he was preoccupied anyway. He was talking to someone else. And he was wobbling rather unsteadily.

"Here, take 'er." Jack passed her-- very carefully-- to someone else. Gwen cracked an eye open and saw nothing but a mass of red hair. She closed her eyes again very tightly, as though afraid of seeing the remains of the Roman fleet or its commander if she kept them open for too long. Though she knew neither when she had fallen asleep nor how long she had slept, she was aware of being very weary yet, and she was aware that her eyelids and cheeks were covered with the fine, clinging salt of half-dried tears. She felt herself being laid gently down in the bottom of another boat.

"Give me both your guns, if both have powder in them," she heard Jack say from a few yards away, and there was some rustling of cloth and faint clinking of metal above her.

Gwen heard a shot fired a moment later, and the crackle of flames, and she realized absently that Gaius would have a funeral pyre. The thought comforted her, strangely. The boat rocked dangerously then as Jack leapt back aboard his and Murphy's boat. He tucked his own pistol back into his sash and passed Murphy's pair back to him.

"Let's get out of here," he said. "Those ships are already starting to sink; we don't want to be here when they all go under."

* * *

Gwen awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming in through the window onto her face. It seemed a perfectly beautiful morning. The skies were clear and bright, the sea calm and peaceful. Outside the cabin door, on deck, the crew of the _Pearl_ were singing one of their favorite shanties; often in the middle of a verse, the song would all but fall apart as some men sang the bawdy lyrics outright, others mumbled through them, and others altered the words to clean them up a bit. Gwen guessed Elizabeth had appeared on deck and that she was the cause of the attempts at censorship that some of the singers were making.

In short, by all obvious standards, this was an ideal sort of day, a daymeant to be enjoyed. But Gwen's mind went back to the evening before, when Jack and Murphy had brought her back aboard the _Black Pearl_. Jack had heard her out as she pled for him to pardon AnaMaria's behavior; AnaMaria knew there hadn't been time then to explain it all to everybody who would want to know, so she had instead focused on helping Gaius to get Gwen alone. Despite her good intentions in clearing Anamaria's name, Gwen hadlost all sense of focus in her extreme fatigue and hadn't really managed to explain anything at all to Jack. She'd only rambled incessantly about AnaMaria, which for some reason had stuck in her mind as something she should clear up. Jack had put her to bed, since it was clear to him that the exertion of whatever she had done had greatly wearied her, and that she wasn't good for any information for him at the time. He would hear it all soon enough.

Gwen wagered that Jack had probably heard explanations enough from AnaMaria by now. There was a good chance, in fact, that by this time, he'd thoroughly interviewed and interrogated everyone who might know anything at all in the case. A quick glance around their quarters proved that he was nowhere to be found there. But on the desk was a glass of water, waiting for her.

* * *

Gwen had barely stepped beyond the doorway of the cabin before she was wrapped up in Elizabeth's embrace. "Are you all right? I was so worried!"

Gwen only smiled her answer as she hugged her friend back.

Will could be seen near the mainmast, dancing quirkily to the crew's singing with his young son in his arms. Then Gwen spotted AnaMaria, Jack, and Murphy. The three were standing close enough together to convince Gwen that their camaraderie had been wholly restored. They were looking out at the _Gilder_, a short distance away, and the two men were nodding from time to time as AnaMaria pointed and gestured.

Gwen sighed, relieved that things seemed to be resolved and happy once, but still feeling disheartened. Giving her head a little shake, she turned back to Elizabeth.

"I suppose you'll be going back to Port Royal," she observed for want of anything else to speak of.

"Why?"

Gwen floundered. "Well, with what happened to Billy there…"

"He's back, safe and sound. Captain Murphy never really meant any harm. Besides, Will has already agreed that I should learn how to defend myself and my son. Especially since Jack has consented to allowing us to stay aboard the _Pearl_."

Gwen compulsively squeezed Elizabeth in another hug. When she drew back, she saw that Jack had spotted her and come over, trailing his colleagues behind him. "A word, Gwen?" he said simply.

Gwen smiled again at Elizabeth to take leave of her and followed Jack into the map room. Murphy came along as well, but AnaMaria stayed behind with Elizabeth.

"Murphy has a favor to ask of ye," Jack said without preamble, having negotiated the matter with Murphy while Gwen was still asleep earlier that morning. "I thought ye might want to hear him out."

Gwen started and then stared at Jack, then at Murphy. "I don't want--" she began, but Jack cut her off.

"It would do ye good to hear 'im," he said sternly, sounding far more serious than he looked. He was idly re-plaiting his goatee.

How could Jack be so callous? Didn't he realize what she'd just had to do? And he wanted her to do a favor for someone else? But Gwen bit back a reply. Murphy took this as leave for him to speak, and he cleared his throat.

"I be gov'nah of a li'l isle we call Simantikos", he explained simply. "I 'elped th' people build a smugglin' enterprise; captured 'em some ships, run some o' the competition out o' business…" He seemed to realize that it wasn't necessary to share all the particulars of how he had managed to win the respect and devotion of his citizens; he cleared his throat again and went on, "They trest me fer ever'thin'. But then some started gettin' sick, awful sick, and some dyin' very slowly…I couldna do anythin'. It started spreadin' more, and I remembered th' tales me da' tol' me, and 'is before 'im, about the _Lux_. Me great-grand-da' heard all about' 'em from some ol' witch tryin' t' sell charmed trinkets t' 'im and 'is comrade. I used t' want t' meet ye-- er, the _Lux_-- because I wanted ye t' gi' me some spit of land to rule. But now, I been looking fer ye to… now I ask that ye gi' me back th' _people_ o' the land I got m'self. It's deadly important... Ye're me last 'ope for 'em," he finished rather lamely.

Murphy waited anxiously for a response, but Gwen didn't answer quickly enough to suit him. With a surprisingly discerning tenderness, he said, "I'm nah askin' ye t' kill 'em; I wan' ye t' _save_ 'em. T' bring life back t' S'mantikos."

"I bring death," was Gwen's reflexive answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack pause in his braiding and turn to look at her. Gwen looked over at him and could tell by his expression he was surprised with her; it wasn't like her to say something so grim. She started to formulate an explanation for her impulsive statement, but couldn't think of anything to say by way of explanation. Jack looked like a parent who was torn between punishing or pitying his child. He couldn't think of anything to say to her either.

It was Murphy who finally spoke next. With a wisdom that had grown from leading and providing for "his" people, he said logically, "If tha's all ye were meant t' do, they wouldna ha' called ye th' Light."

There was a stunned pause on Gwen's behalf. Gaius' last words flooded back to her. "_You are the light_," he had said, "_there can be no darkness in our sanctuary_." Smiling uncertainly then, she looked up at Murphy and answered honestly, if shakily, "I really hope I can help you, Captain."

Murphy visibly brightened. In fact, he looked suddenly just as cheerful as a lively, playful Irish setter. A particularly large one. He looked toward Jack, who gave some minute signal of approval, and then the big man sprang toward the door. He paused as though he had just been struck by his rudeness and turned back to Gwen to thank her fervently, hug her, and kiss her forehead. Then he charged back to the door and left in a great rush to find Gibbs and give up the bearings for his island territory.

There was a long silence in the map room after he left. Gwen couldn't think of anything to say. While she waited for _Jack_ to think of something, her mind wandered. She unexpectedly stumbled over a couple of tidbits of information coming together. Gaius had told her about her great-grandfather having a large red-haired companion with him when he visited the medium. And now Murphy, a large, red-haired fellow himself, had mentioned his own forefather seeing "an ol' witch" with _his_ friend…

She turned to share this surprising connection with Jack, but when she met his eyes, she decided there would be other times to talk about such things.

It was clear to her what he was thinking about: the last real conversation they'd had, before yesterday's insanities, had been an argument. Jack was obviously in a similar predicament to the one that Gwen now found herself in, now that she was thinking about their fight again. Jack wanted to tell her he was sorry he'd gotten her into the whole mess, and also wanted her to know he was sorry she couldn't tell how he felt. Gwen, for her part, wanted to apologize to Jack for not really _listening_ to him when he tried to explain to her how he felt, and wanted him to know that everything was, at least,finally as it should be, and that she would be all right again herself, in time. She also wanted to thank him for making her listen to Murphy just now. He had known that she needed to concentrate on healing-- and trying to heal others would be just as beneficial for _her_ as for them.

So, naturally, even having so much to say, they just stared at each other until Jack started fidgeting and Gwen's mind wandered off to consider her chances of being able to go relieve herself sometime soon.

Then, clapping his hands together and nodding contentedly as though they had just spent an hour in delightful conversation, Jack slid off the table, where he had been seated, and walked over to her. Gwen rose to her feet as well when he started moving. Jack teasingly ignored her and walked right by as though he would simply leave the room, but then he doubled back. She found herself abruptly all wrapped up in his arms, backed up against the wall, being kissed wholeheartedly. After a small eternity, Jack leaned back and grinned.

"Still got it, luv," he said. The statement was just enigmatic enough for each of them to save face in the light of their own egos. Gwen expressed her agreement with his claim by kissing him back, though she was rather more chaste than he had been. No sense in leading him on too far just now, since there was her bladder to consider.

Luckily, Jack didn't seem to have any intentions of re-consummating their mended relations just then anyway. With a self-satisfied grin, he released Gwen and turned to leave. He paused, though, and turned back to her. Stooping down, he planted a funny, smacking kiss on Gwen's belly, then winked at her, and left the map room.

"Enough of that bloody dirge, ye slimy… sea-slime! Why don't ye sing The Song?" he shouted to his crew as soon as he was on deck again.

Gwen remained motionless in the map room, her hand fixed over the spot Jack had kissed on her growing stomach, and her mind fixed on Murphy's words:

To bring life…


	21. Chapter the Last: Sparrows

Disclaimer: Don't sue me. I'm a good girl, I am. Washed m' face and 'ands before I wrote this, I did.

* * *

**_There is an old superstition, of what origins I do not know, that proposes that it is bad luck to kill a sparrow-- for sparrows carry the souls of the dead to their final resting places._**

* * *

Chapter the Last: Sparrows

* * *

When Murphy had said that he was the "governor" of a "small island," he wasn't being entirely truthful. In actuality, as Jack and Gwen and their entire three-ship entourage realized when they sailed into his domain several days later, Simantikos was really a small _archipelago_ of isles. The largest of these was home to most of the population of the island-chain; a town of aroundfive-hundred people bustled on the shores of this main island. A few handfuls of settlers clustered on some of the tinier isles nearby. Originally composed of a group of two or three dozen alienated Greeks, the population now included discontented or disowned individuals of all breeds and stations who had found a haven for themselves in Murphy's miniature province.

The evening arrival of the _Black Pearl_, the _Gilder_, and not least, Murphy's auspiciously-named _Lux Fortunaque Mundi_ set off a spark of enthusiasm that brought effusive settlers from their cottages and houses and down to the harbor in a throng. Every man wished to see Governor Murphy and all were bursting with news. The most incredulous thing had happened, at noon that very day: The plague had released its hold on the settlement!

Several men and women were even then describing over and over to each other exactly how and when they had discovered themselves or their affected family and friends to be miraculously healed. The story was even being passed around about the resurrection of a daughter of one of Murphy's deputies. According to the tale, the young lass had actually been declared dead of the fever late in the morning. Half an hour later, the girl had breezed into her mother's arms as healthy and dainty as a butterfly.

Murphy, for all his shrewdness in business dealings, was so overcome with relief for the sake of his people that he hardly knew how to react. He listened to the accounts over and over, though with a knowing--if giddy--smile, before he recovered the sense to introduce the important guests he had brought with him and charge someone to prepare accommodations for them. It was only then that he realized that somewhere in the middle of the mayhem, Jack, who had been at his side not ten minutes earlier, had disappeared. Gwen was nowhere to be found either, when he began to fervently ask after her whereabouts, to have his people's savior brought before them.

Jack hadn't seen Gwen since earlier that morning, when they had awakened and risen at the same time. Then, however, she had gone below decks while he had elected to go immediately to the poop deck. But once they were on the docks, surrounded by the melee of excitement caused by the great healing she had obviouslywrought while they were still at sea, he began to wonder why she hadn't disembarked yet.

Elizabeth and Will were near him on the docks, talking with Gibbs and AnaMaria, who was holding their young son. A short interview with Elizabeth revealed that Gwen had not, in fact, spent her day with Mrs. Turner, as Jack had assumed. Gibbs and Will both confirmed that they hadn't seen her since early in the morning. She had been in the galley for a while, but then she had disappeared.

Jack wasn't quite sure if he was worried or just exasperated that Gwen had so easily vanished. Perhaps some of both. Either way, he was certainly annoyed. He headed back toward the _Pearl_, aware that Gibbs and Will came with him to help him search.

* * *

There was a small room--more of a closet, really--on one of the lower decks of the _Pearl. _It was a little cloister that was rarely ever used. On one side of the room were a few random items: a chair or two, an empty basin, unidentifiable poles of scratched wood, etc. Along the wall on the other side of the room were heaps of cloth goods--blankets and trousers and the like. The only time the storage room was ever visited was when a sailor realized that his bedding or waistcoat had grown too threadbare to continue using. Not surprisingly, this didn't happen often, since the men weren't usually so attentive to the state of their clothing. Thus, if a person wished to hide away and sit alone on the uncluttered half of the room, they could certainly do so with little chance of being disturbed.

It was here that Jack found Gwen, curled up on the floor near a tatty, out-of-place,brocaded armchair. Her hands and face were cold, and she was covered in a chilled sweat. Her breath was shallow and erratic. Jack knelt beside her but then hesitated, not quite able to think of what he should do. Half-realized thoughts flitted through his mind: Should he yell to the others he'd found her? Should he find Serge, or perhaps ask if Murphy's island medics were more qualified?

Mechanically, he pulled her into his arms and stood up. He felt strangely as though he were suddenly lost in the same sort of mental fog that was usually induced only by heavy rum consumption. It seemed he was becoming more confused and disoriented by the second.

Gwen's eyes suddenly flickered open and met his. The look she pinned him with froze him in place for a brief second before she closed her eyes again, a look of serenity now on her still-pale face. A chill swept over his body and settled in his stomach. He felt feverish and his legs wobbled. Shaking his head to try to banish the odd sensations, he staggered toward the door, beyond noticing that Gwen's breathing had evened out.

* * *

Jack awoke feeling warm. That was the only impression that he could assemble for a long moment while he tried to remember or figure out where he was and why he was there. He sat up.

Ah. He was in his bed. With Gwen's body tangled around his. It was dusky, as though the sun had just set. And… why was he in bed this early?

His motion must have awoken Gwen, for she pulled herself into a sitting position beside him and began absently running her fingers through her mussed hair and trying to sort out which legs were hers and which ones were his. They stared blankly at each other for a moment in the surreal atmosphere created by the fading light. There was a definite, detectable moment when they both remembered all that had passed.

At that point "What happened?" seemed like such a futile query that neither bothered to voice it. Gwen found herself shaking her head absently in her confusion and had to stop herself. She ventured to ask how he felt.

For a moment it seemed that Jack didn't hear her question. But then he stretched and yawned, as though to take stock of himself, and grinned. "It's bad luck to try to kill a Sparrow," he quipped.

"I didn't try to kill you," Gwen protested meekly.

He recognized that pensive tone in her voice, knew it all too well. And rather than give her an opportunity to start pondering what exactly _had_ happened down in that storage room that day, Jack sprang out of bed and began tugging at her. "Get up, wench," he insisted as he glanced about in search of his boots. "Think later."

To his surprise and pleasure, Gwen nodded in agreement and let the subject pass away, at least for the moment. She stood and stretched herself, surprised at how wonderful she felt now after the terrible state she had been in earlier that day. At least, she assumed it was still the same day. There was no telling how much time had actually passed. A thought suddenly occurred to her and she found herself murmuring "the baby," as she put a hand over her stomach.

"It's fine," Jack answered her as he reassembled his clothes and stamped into his boots, even though she hadn't necessarily been speaking to him.

"Oh!" Gwen said in surprise. "It's kicking! Come here and…" She trailed off and looked up at him incredulously. "How did you know?"

Jack began in a very matter-of-fact tone to explain, "I…" But he got no further. He stopped and frowned. Why _would _he know that? He hadn't been guessing, or just saying it to reassure her, but how could he really know that Gwen's illness from overexertion or whatever side effect of her efforts it was that had caused her to be ill… how could he know that the child was unaffected by it?

Gwen stared at him. He clapped his hat onto his head. "Let's go, luv," he said, suddenly anxious to leave the confines of their quarters and go elsewhere, where they wouldn't have to wonder about why she had made him sick as well, or why they had mended so quickly (assuming, of course, that it was the same day and not the next evening), or… wonder about anything else even halfway related to these strange occurrences.

Gwen compliantly found her own boots, smoothed her hair and skirts, and turned to go with him. Just as she passed him on the way to the door, however, he grabbed her playfully, in an obvious effort to dispel the funk they were caught in, and spun her around and out of his way, then made a mad dash for the door himself.

Gwen lost her balance and stumbled, barely managing to right herself by reaching out and grabbing Jack's desk chair. "It's bad luck to try to kill a Sparrow," she complained. Then, as though realizing what she had said, and what she had insinuated by it, she cleared her throat nervously and walked silently toward the doorway where he waited.

But he made no objection to her claim of being a Sparrow as well. Actually, he didn't seem to notice at all. Instead, he merely joked, "Ye nearly made me fall down earlier when ye gave me that fever, I nearly made ye fall down now; we're square."

Gwen dropped her jaw in mock-irritation. Pointing at her belly, she said, "You did _this_ to me, Mister."

"Captain," Jack corrected as he led them out onto the deck of the _Pearl_.

"Yes, that too, if you insist. But we're _not_ even."

"Of course we're not _even_. I'm a captain. I rank ye."

"That has nothing to do with this," Gwen insisted.

"It's all a matter of who's on top, is it not?" Jack answered impishly.

"If that's what being a captain is all about, then sometimes _I'm_ a captain too, am I not?" Gwen pointed out lewdly.

"Cap'n! Gwen! How be ye?" It was Gibbs. It occurred to Gwen to wonder how much of their conversation the man had caught or understood, but she thought it better to not mention it at all. She raised a hand to her lips to keep herself from snickering aloud and ignored the wicked grin Jack shot her.

"Everyone's been worried this past coupla hours," Gibbs went on, either oblivious or very good at pretending to be. "They'd be 'appy to 'ave ye go on ashore if ye was feeling aright. Be ye aright now, after so short a time?" He gave them a searching look, as though it had just occurred to him to compare how dreadful they had looked not so long ago with how healthy they appeared to be now.

"We're doing quite well, thank you, Gibbs," Gwen assured him. Offering an arm to him, she said, "Shall we go then, my friend?"

Jack scowled for a moment at his exclusion, then scampered over to Gibbs' other side, looping his arm through his first mate's. "To Oz?" he asked in a dainty falsetto.

Gibbs and Gwen both turned their heads to stare at him.

"Ashore?" he tried again in his natural, lower timbre.

"Ashore," they echoed.

* * *

"How are they?"

Will seated his wife before responding to the question Murphy had asked. "Better, I think. Elizabeth?"

She shook her head ambiguously. "It was very strange that _he_ should take ill so suddenly. Anyway, both were asleep last I checked on them. Gibbs insisted on staying behind and promised to inform us of any change for the worse. But I think they'll be fine once they've had time to repair."

Murphy glanced around anxiously at the great assemblage of shambled-together tables and chairs before them. "This was t' be a banquet i' their honor," he said blandly. "It's been hard enou' tryin' t' keep 'em all from swarmin' th' _Pearl_, as 'tis. And now them not even bein' 'ere now…"

"It's not your fault she doesn't feel well," AnaMaria reassured him softly from where she sat on his other side. "She agreed to do it, whatever the consequences for herself were. And she's fine; she just needs rest. Perhaps tomorrow she'll feel up to being paraded about."

"Well, wha' o' Jack, then? Why's _ee_ sick at th' instant she were found when ye and th' Turners 'ere and 'alf 'is crew all was around' 'er right after ee found 'er?"

AnaMaria shook her head slowly. "I don't know, Dylan." Her eyes were focused far away. "I don't know."

Suddenly, Elizabeth caught Will's hand to grab his attention and pointed toward the figures just entering the circle of light made by the torches ringing the banquet area. Will cleared his throat and tapped Murphy on the shoulder. Murphy elbowed AnaMaria out of her reverie.

"What was that for, you oaf?" she asked crossly, rubbing her side.

"If ye're still tryin' t' explain ever'thin'," he said, "explain _that_. Ill, were they?"

AnaMaria stared. "They _were_. I saw them when Will and Gibbs and Ben brought 'em up. As pale as Norrington's wig." She scowled, then turned to Murphy. "You're the legend master," she pointed out. "_You _explain it."

Murphy shook his head. Whether because he didn't know anything or just wouldn't say, AnaMaria wasn't sure. Either way, he didn't say anything more to her, but rose from his chair and spread his arms out. The crowd of diners grew quiet almost instantaneously as they nudged and poked each other into respectful silence to hear their leaders' words.

"Simantikos," he said, "I presen' t' ye your Light, Miss Gwendolyn, and m' ol' mate Cap'n Jack Sparrow!"

Gwen balked at the cheer that went up, and at the number of awe-filled, grateful faces who turned eagerly towards her, and the hands of those nearby who began reaching out towards her, anxious to grasp her hand or touch her skirts.

Gibbs had wandered off and gone around to join his compatriot shipmates as soon as they approached the light. But Jack moved closer to Gwen's side when he saw how anxious she looked and curled an arm around her shoulders. "See, even _he_ calls me a captain, luv," he jested in a voice just loud enough for her to hear over the hubbub, trying to distract her from the awkward distress she was obviously experiencing.

Gwen relaxed somewhat into his embrace as he escorted her toward the front table. "What does _he_ have to do with what _I _choose to call you?" she asked, playing along with his little game.

"That man," Jack informed her gravely, "served on the same ship as I did for five years. That's longer than ye have. We even inked our first tattoos together. I mean, that's brotherhood. He can call me whatever the hell he wants. But _you_--"

"Did it hurt?" she asked out of a sudden curiousity.

Jack didn't chastise her for her interruption. Instead, he thoughtfully flexed his forearm, considering the tattoo there that was currently covered by his sleeve. Sun, sea, and sparrow.

"I'll wager ye'll be able to bear it jes fine," he said, gripping her wrist and drawing her hand up to eye level. He paused for half a moment as though to examine her forearm, but then he released her and continued blithely, "S'long as ye remember that the _captain_ is the one who will do it, and that the _captain_ expects thanks for it."

Gwen didn't speak for a long moment, stunned at what he had just promised to do for her. She swallowed nervously a few times before she finally managed to ask, "Does the captain still insist on being on top to receive his thanks?"

"That's the ticket, luv," he said, winking at her use of the title. "Now…" He turned his attention to eye Murphy as they neared the big man and his "table of honor." Scanning the table up and down conspicuously, Jack demanded of him (in lieu of a proper greeting), "Where's the rum, lad? Bring it out now; we're here. Drinks all around!"

* * *

**_Fin_**


End file.
